What is your earliest memory of PD behavior?

Started by Cat of the Canals, August 02, 2019, 07:03:26 PM

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Cat of the Canals

I was wondering if some of you might share the earliest memory of your PD parent "acting out." Hopefully this isn't too triggering, and if it's too painful to share, I understand.

I suspect most of us were far too young to know what a PD was or even to truly understand how dysfunctional their behavior was, but I suspect we all had early moments of thinking, "Something about this doesn't seem quite right."

For me, it was early on in the first grade. I'd confided to my next door neighbor/best friend that I had a crush on a boy in our class. When we got home from school, the first thing she did was blab to my uBPD mom about it.  :doh:

It already suggests a lot to me that I'd had no intention of sharing this information with my mother. I must have sensed it was not a safe conversation to have with her. And I don't think that's a normal instinct for a 6-year-old.

Then came the reaction. I'd expect most parents would be sort of amused by this kind of thing, but would ultimately write it off as puppy love. "Oh, how cute. Your first crush. Do you want a snack?"

Instead, she started grilling me, hands on hips, full eye contact, mouth set in a hard line.

What's his name?
Who is he?
How do you know him?
How well do you know him?
Is he smart?
Does he get good grades?
Who does he hang out with?


I remember being completely befuddled by the interrogation. I wanted to say, "I just think he's cute! It's not like I'm going to marry him!" But of course I knew I couldn't say that.

Because my mom wasn't really like the other moms. She was just a little too concerned with every teensy detail of my life.

So that's my story. Kind of silly, but very telling, now that I'm Out of the FOG. What's yours?

SmartyCat

Hi Cat - your story makes me want to go back in time and give Little Cat a hug or a cookie or something.  :grouphug:

I'm not sure either of my parents quite rose (or rather sank) to the level of PD, but they were without question emotionally immature.

Here was my moment: I was 7, and the weekday there were Brownie meetings after school also happened to be the weekday they sold ice cream bars in the afternoon at school. The price of an ice cream bar was EXACTLY the same as my weekly Brownie dues. I'm sure you know where this is going - 7 year old me spent my Brownie dues on ice cream bars more than once. Finally my conscience (or my Brownie leader  :-[) caught up with me, I had no idea how to make it right, and I confessed to my Mom. Her response: "well, I should HOPE you never did anything like THAT!!!!!!!!!!!"  :dramaqueen: Mic drop. End of discussion. That was the moment I realized that any problems I had with school, friends, life, I was going to have to sort out myself.

Years later I told a therapist I felt like I hadn't done a very good job of raising myself, and she asked "well, how old were you at the time?"  :stars: Oh.

WomanInterrupted

I always knew there was something wrong with both unBPD Didi and unNPD Ray.

One of my earliest memories is of me, standing up in my crib, and unBPD Didi in the doorway, just *staring* at me.   :blink:

She wouldn't come in, she wouldn't smile, she didn't try to hug me - she just STARED, with her arms folded, like she was scrutinizing me and focusing on every single flaw - then walked away, leaving me in my crib, confused.   :'(

The next thing I remember was all the DRAMA and the *rages* - Didi  worked sporadically (when she was a SAHM, she hated being there, and would go back to work, and when she had a job, she pined for being a SAHM) - and I never knew WHAT was going to set her off.   :wacko:

I could look at her funny, and suddenly, she's trying to beat the hell out of me, screaming and calling me names, stating she's going to KILL me, and when I was a hysterical mess, cowering on the floor, a switch would flip inside her head and she'd claim she was going to kill herself - and I'd wind up consoling HER and begging her not to do it, with *both* of us crying hysterically, and me making more and more outrageous claims:  I'd make Ray be nice!  I'd make her boss be nice!  I'd make the neighbors be nice; mommy, don't KILL yourself!  :stars:

Satisfied, the switch would flip again, she'd put me back in my crib, shut off the light, close the door  - and leave me to wonder WHAT was going to happen next - and when Ray was due home.  :aaauuugh:

(Would it surprise anybody that I struggle with insomnia and have a VERY exaggerated startle reflex, which can be rather embarrassing?  My dentist keeps thinking I'm in pain, and I have to remind him, "I hate stuff coming at my face.  It makes me very nervous and jumpy.")

Later, unNPD Ray would get home, drag me out of the crib (I was in that crib until I was *five*), flip me over his knee and start screaming that I was a BAD GIRL and I was killing my mother - while spanking me with a wooden spoon.  :'(

Didi was the one who'd sicced Ray on me, and would stand and watch, smirking - and later got to play "savior" in telling Ray she thought I'd had enough.   :roll:

I'd be put back into my crib - still crying - given a dixie cup of water, and the next morning, it was like nothing ever happened - until the next time it did.   :sharkbait:

I remember this stuff happening regularly as early as when I was a  toddler - and it didn't really stop until I was maybe 8 or 9 - only because I could outrun Didi and was very good at hiding.  :ninja:

I knew even before kindergarten I couldn't trust them, I couldn't tell them anything, and I had to learn tasks on my own, because they had NO interest in teaching me, often scoffing, "That's what schools are for!"

I also learned to not tell them anything unless I wanted to be mocked relentlessly - oooh, she's got a crush on David Cassidy.  He's her BOYFRIEND.  Hey, WI - your BOYFRIEND is on TV!

How freaking humiliating.  :-[

I remember unNPD Ray as being Didi's smiling, dopey lapdog - and attack dog, when needed.  When he wasn't in a rage, he was generally good-natured (and short-tempered), but when I was around five, something changed and he became surly, grumpy, grouchy, nasty -   like he'd been replaced by somebody else.  :???:

I never liked Ray before that - and I certainly didn't like him after.

A couple of years ago, the doctor at the memory care unit diagnosed Ray as *psychotic* - and based on what I told them, said Ray may have been that way his entire adult life.   :blink:

I wonder if that personality transplant was the start of a psychotic break, that only kept getting worse, as time went on. 

It doesn't give him a pass - but it explains a LOT about my childhood, and what it was like growing up in that house - one was borderline psychotic, and the other really WAS psychotic!  :aaauuugh:

:hug:

Ariel

I remember the rages and being so scared and sitting behind my door and being able to keep it closed by keeping my legs straight and pressing against the opposite wall. My mother saying open the door or I will kill you and thinking if I do you will kill me. I was about 8or 9. Who does that shit

Thru the Rain

#4
Up until I was about 7 years old, I remember my M going into a rage over who knows what, grab whatever toy I had in my hand or nearby, and stomping it to death. And if it was too big to stomp, she'd throw it down the stairs. I specifically remember an Easy-Bake Oven (one of the big, brittle plastic ones from the early 70s) that got thrown down the stairs.

I learned to play really quietly, in my room. I had a huge paper doll collection, and it occurred to me just now that may have been my subconscious seeking out un-stompable toys.

When I got a little older, I would use babysitting money to buy whatever trendy clothes everyone else was wearing (oh my god the clothes I had to wear as a kid!) I had a really pretty blue top I was so proud of. Bought it myself in Junior High and wore it once before M "accidentally" poured bleach on it. Completely destroyed it. No remorse on her part because "it was an accccccidennnnnnt!", and certainly no offer to buy me a replacement.

About 10 years ago, M threw away a board game that I used to play with my Dad. When I'm back at their house (VERY rarely anymore), we used to get it out and play a few rounds. This was a fairly obscure game that's no longer made or sold - not really valuable, just sentimental and unreplaceable.  (And she wasn't clearing out space, they have everything they've ever owned stashed away in that house.)

It was during a later visit that I learned this game had been thrown away and I asked my Dad about it. His answer was sad and hilarious at the same time. He said in a very confidential voice "Mom can be mean." No Kidding!

And then he got a "lightbulb moment" look and asked "Mom wasn't mean to you kids was she?" I was not Out of the FOG yet, so I didn't know how to even begin to answer that. I think about bringing that subject up with him again now, but I know it wouldn't change anything anyway.


Amadahy

I don't remember a lot of my childhood, but two things come to mind.  When I was just months old, dad worked at night. Every night he worked, I'd have a respiratory episode and when he got home they'd take me for treatment. Nmom always said I had "bad lungs," but I didn't. I think even that little baby knew she wasn't safe and was unwanted and could not breathe. (My lungs are very strong — I nearly majored in voice, undergrad.)

When I was five, I lost my favorite uncle, Nmom's brother, in a car wreck. (Think Mr Rogers hot-rodding. He was *that* cool.) Anyway, I loved him dearly and would stare at his photo asking him to come back. My life (and Nmom's) would have been vastly improved with him around. I also remember around this time praying not to feel numb. What little kid even knows the word numb, much less the desolation of living there?  There's a reason I have few tangible memories, it seems, and I do not seek to retrieve them.

Thanks for asking. Reminiscing validates and gives grace to the self. ❤️
Ring the bells that still can ring;
Forget your perfect offering.
There's a crack in everything ~~
That's how the Light gets in!

~~ Leonard Cohen

Cat of the Canals

These stories are so heartbreaking. Thank you all for sharing.

I think all of our inner children could use a hug and a cookie, like SmartyCat suggested.

DaisyGirl77

A large part of my childhood is blank.  What I do remember is uNPDM checking on me while in the crib at maybe 1.5-2 years old.  I must've been making some noise or something for it to happen.  Otherwise, she'd let me cry it out for however long it took for me to stop cuz by then I knew she didn't like me.  Anything I needed or wanted at that age was met with a resentful action (a hug can be extremely resentful, coming from her).  Other than that, I was "in trouble" multiple times daily.  Grown people chasing a 3-4 year old around the house with the child terrified out of her mind, finding "safety" in an 8" space between the fridge & stove, pulling her finger frantically in an attempt to self-soothe while the parents either tried to coax me out (I refused, knowing what would come next), or be forcefully yanked out by either feet or hands to be beaten with a wooden spoon.

That was basically my childhood until I was 12 or so.  They stopped the beatings then, but my father would throw me over his shoulder & carry me to my room at times.  My greatest wish was to "not be a bad girl" all the time.  (Yes, I'd internalized the "bad girl" narrative.  I was wracked with self-blame for DECADES.)  I was the scapegoat; the kid who shattered my mother's fantasies of having a doll to dress up & to do as she said because I came out with my own personality & needs--& I just needed to be held when I was sick with colic!--& she wasn't prepared for that.  After that, nothing I could do was right, except to get good grades in school, which I did, because "If I get straight As, they'll SEE I'm good!"  Spoiler alert:  That didn't happen, lol.

I'm NC with my mother.  LC with my father.  NC with my father's side of the family, & about the same on my mother's side, as they're so toxic the roots of the proverbial tree are rotting.
I lived with my dad's uPD mom for 3.5 years.  This is my story:  http://www.outofthefog.net/forum/index.php?topic=59780.0  (TW for abuse descriptions.)

"You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm." - Anonymous

NC with uNM since December 2016.  VLC with uPDF.

Recreatingmylife

1. Made my own lunch in 1st grade. My mother looked at and said the sandwich was cut sloppily. Refused for me to take it to school because others would think she made it!
2. Demanded I take dance lessons... though I hated going for 5 years. She said, I would be "left sotting on the bench" if I didn't. Again, about her.
3. Discovered her just staring at at me from across the table. She then stated, "Well, at least you have  white teeth." As if that was all I had going for me.
4. In high school, she wanted me to date a certain boy. I only liked him as a friend. When I said this... she stated that I "must be a lesbian to not want to date him!"
5. If I was having a conversation with one of her friends... she would suddenly become very loud and state whatever I had said was stupid or direct the conversation to herself.
This is all very telling. Sadly, it took me a very long time to figure her out.

looloo

#9
It's heartbreaking to read about the level of fear and pain inflicted by PD parents - I'm so sorry these experiences happened to all of you.

My earliest memories aren't traumatic, but it's telling how vividly I recall them, despite how relatively mundane they are.  I have very early memories, and one, from maybe 3 years old, is when my Nmother would be in a "woe is me" kind of mood.  She'd be sulking, sighing, and so on.  I would ask what was wrong, and she'd say, "Just circumstances  :violin:  This was my first Big Word - Circumstances.  I remember trying to imagine what Circumstances looked like, and all I could come up with was an image maybe like stamps, lol!  Postage stamps?! I was left feeling confused and anxious, not sure what to do...  And I remember the next time(s) it would happen, asking my mother, "Is it Circumstances???"  :(

My passive aggressive EnFather — again, relatively mundane early memory:  I was 3-4, and he was zipping up my jacket for me.  He zipped too quickly and caught my chin in the zipper  :aaauuugh:.  I immediately caught myself and held back a "YEEOOOWWWW!!!!!" And instead, just held my breath until he realized and unzipped (not more than half a second).  And even though he noticed quickly and took care of it, there was no accompanying "I'm sorry!  Are you ok?  ((kiss kiss))". Just a perfunctory UNZIP and then onward to the next chore, I guess.  I KNEW that if I reacted, it would set him off into a tailspin of anger, sullenness, and self hatred, that I would then be responsible for handling, and I had no idea how to deal with that.  So I knew almost instinctively to stifle my own response in order to avoid his inevitable blowup.  I have several other examples of this — unintentional moments where I normally would react in the moment (Father stepping on my foot as a 4 year old and not knowing it, etc.), but held it in.  It just wasn't safe emotionally.

I have more violent and ragey examples from the age of 5 onwards, but these are the very early memories...
"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."  Oscar Wilde.

"My actions are my true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand."  Thich Nhat Hanh

Andeza

I don't know how old I was, just that it must have been elementary school. I was homeschooled growing up so there was really no escaping the dysfunction. I remember it being the middle of the school day, and I had a blank expression on my face while my uBPDM was teaching, when all of a sudden she starts lecturing me about my bad attitude. How I needed an "attitude check" and I was being disrespectful to her. She asked if I wanted a spanking, of course not! This lecture went on for hours, until I was reduced to tears because I knew she wouldn't let me do anything fun until school was done and school ended up not being done until after dinner. After threatening on and off to spank me, she finally did. She had an old leather dress belt reserved for my butt. Then made me hug her and said it hurt her worse to spank me than it did to be spanked. And the icing on the cake? She made a comment to the effect of while she was training to be a teacher she learned it was necessary to break the child's will but not their spirit.

First, I was crying because I was beyond pissed. She consumed my entire day with her nonsense, I went to bed having not had any opportunity that day to blow off steam. Finished my homework, went to bed. She freaking followed me. The lecture continued with her sitting on the edge of my bed in the dark still talking AT me while all I wanted to do was sleep. She was determined to make me feel bad, awful, how dare I have a blank expression that she assigned a meaning to!

In hindsight, it's seriously screwed up and I wonder sometimes how I made it out of that house.
Remember, that there are no real deadlines for life, just society's pressures.      - Anonymous
Lasting happiness is not something we find, but rather something we make for ourselves.

Karen

I remember from a very early age the rages and shouting from behind closed doors - first arguments with my father and then my older sister. These went on for ages with my UnBPDm becoming more and more enraged and loud. I was terrified. As a result of these, I did exactly as I was told and mainly kept out of her way as much as I could. I spent days away on my bike and doing any after school activity that was going.

Later on I noticed how she would be sickly sweet in front of other people and have this smiley persona, which disappeared as soon as she left other people. Her mood could change instantly. I also noticed her lies. She would tell barefaced lies without any guilt whatsoever. Even as a child I found this shocking.

Anything I said - an innocuous comment regarding a school friend or event - could set off her rage and I never knew why. She was so jealous of people with money and social standing and is still today a massive snob. i worked out never to compliment a friend's house or mother!!!!

Like many others here, I knew instinctively that she could not be trusted with certain sensitive information - parties I wanted to be invited to, worries about my appearance or skill at making things or netball. She would go round the table at mealtimes relishing her role as bully in chief to all of us and if she had a juicy titbit so much the better. When I started earning a bit of money with Saturday jobs, and buying my own clothes, she liked nothing better than tell me how they didn't suit me and that I looked "common".

If I bought a present for my younger golden child sister, who didn't like it, my unBPDm would tell me to buy her another present. This was with money from my paltry weekend earnings. I knew she was unhinged and very jealous of me. I knew she didn't love me. I'm glad I realised early on. I have never liked the woman.

Recreatingmylife

Thanks, Karen. I can totally relate to the sick sweet mask and jealousy. I remember my mother just raging about a few of her "friends"....then treating them so sweetly. I do recall her raging "at" a close friend. Then she wondered why the lady stopped all contact with her! My mother kept calling and calling the lady leaving messages for the lady to return her calls. Finally, the lady left a message stating, " I will not be spoken to like that." My mom continued to say she didn't think she was harsh with her.... bizaar!

WomanInterrupted

Thank you for the memory jog!   :)

Didi was often *ghosted* by coworkers, back before there was a word for it (the 50's -  the 80's). 

Her favorite people would change branches, get different jobs, quit and go into a different line of work, or MOVE - and not tell her.  When she'd try contacting them, she'd be told they weren't home, they weren't at the branch she was told they'd transferred to, or there just wasn't any contact information available (probably at the person's request).   :blink:

The ones who weren't home - they'd *never* be home when she called, and eventually, they'd be put on her shit list.

I remember one husband telling her to stop calling - so Didi told me he was an abusive a-hole, even though we'd been to their house numerous times and he was nothing but nice.   :roll:

By the time I was five, it had happened at LEAST a dozen times, and as Didi raged and cried, and called her former friends all kinds of unsavory names, I started to have the thought that it really WAS her, no matter how many times she protested she was such a WONDERFUL friend, and didn't understand how people could DO this to her.   :dramaqueen: :violin:

The older I got, the longer the list became.  People whose names were spoken often - and often with praise - were suddenly omitted and never spoken of again. 

Now here's a REALLY weird thing:  upstairs was one of those 5-foot long TV/stereo combo consoles that were big in the 60's and early 70's.   By the time I was old enough to go upstairs, it had quite a few wrapped Christmas presents on it, and once I learned to read, I realized some of those names were familiar.   :???:

Once somebody ghosted Didi, she'd buy them a Christmas present, wrap it, and stick it on that console, like it was a PUNISHMENT.  Ha-ha!  You'll never get MY gift - but I WILL, one day, when I unwrap them all and display them!  SO THERE!   :banana:

By the time I moved out, there was NO room on top of the console, and the gifts were piled 2 or 3 deep!   :aaauuugh:

When I saw that room again, 30-odd years later, there were no more gifts - just more hoarded-up stuff.   :roll:

I didn't see any evidence of gifting herself - I remembered some of the things she bought, and none of them were sitting out.

I think she probably threw them all in the trash, as a way to get the *ultimate* revenge on people who'd probably forgotten her eons ago!   :elephant: :banaaana: :Monsta:

:hug:


artfox

The rages are one of my early memories. Cornering me and screaming at me for half an hour, just a constant tirade of everything that was wrong with me.

I also remember many times, sitting and playing or coloring, and she'd yank me up by my arm and start in on me. She didn't believe in spanking, so she'd pinch me, or would squeeze the back of my neck.

One time I remember her grabbing me by the throat and pushing me against the wall, and saying, " Do not test me, little girl."

All of these were elementary school years or earlier. Good times.

MamaDryad

My memories of childhood and early teenage years are very patchy, and sequence is hard, so I don't know that I can say what's the earliest.

I do know that my earliest memory, full stop, is of being locked in my room, lights off and door closed, too short to reach the light switch, pleading and crying and screaming to my mother to open the door but also knowing that if she DID open that door, I was in big trouble.

I remember being slapped in the face. I remember her coming into my room drunk, effusively affectionate, and then turning on a dime to rage at me when I instinctively pulled away from her. I remember her standing in the kitchen with a kitchen knife at her throat, telling me that she was going to kill herself on the spot and that this is what I obviously wanted, while I begged her not to. I remember her fights with my dad and then with her boyfriends escalating to screaming and sometimes physical violence. I remember the phone ringing in the middle of any and all of these episodes and her answering in a perfectly normal tone of voice.

All of these things happened again and again, and I can't say what happened first. And I had nothing to compare it to, so I thought this was just how people behaved.

This thread is bringing up more memories, though. The ghosting was definitely a thing, and it continued well into my adulthood-- she would make friends with someone quickly, become very close, and then one of two things would happen: either they'd stop coming around and never be mentioned again, or she would tell me that they were having some sort of mental health or midlife crisis and had stopped answering anyone's calls, and she was so worried about them but would respect their need for space. This happened again and again, too.

wisingup

It's funny that overall my memory of my childhood is pretty poor - I don't remember that much.  But the BPD moments are clear and vivid. 

My earliest strong memory is of BPD mom driving my brother and I to a weekend vacation.  She was a bad & insecure driver.  My dad did most of the driving & all of the long distance driving, but for some reason he was not with us on this trip - possibly he met us there later.  Mom got lost on a set of freeway interchanges & began to rage and cry and pound the steering wheel in frustration as she got on and off the various freeways & tried to find the right way.  I was about 5 or 6 and concluded that the only reason she could be this upset was that we were in immediate danger of death.  I sat frozen and petrified in the back seat, just waiting for whatever horrible event was about to occur.

My brother also remembers this vividly - I didn't even get the full sentence out asking him if he remembered  it before his eyes got big & he just said an emphatic "YES!"

Ironically, I live near that area now & get to relive it a little everytime I drive by.


Cat of the Canals

One of the reasons I think UBPDmom might have some NPD traits is that she's actually very adept at making friends. Her ability to "act normal" for others is very, very good. She loves to play hostess, loves to invite people to stay at her house. And I assume people enjoy it because they keep coming back.

Of course, what they don't see is how she is the few days before a party or visit, when she's cleaning the house in an absolute fury. Slamming cabinet doors and raging about what a pigsty the place is and how she's the only one that ever does anything around here. Or the moments in the kitchen, when she's just prepared a huge feast and is muttering and swearing under her breath about how no one appreciates everything she does, etc., etc. (She also happens to be the kind of hostess that absolutely refuses to let you help in the kitchen... harder to play the martyr when other people have helped out, I guess.)

I have noticed that most of her friends have dependent traits. They tend to be quiet, introverted, sometimes even a bit reclusive. I think my mom ends up being almost a mother figure to them. (Which she loves.) The few friends she has that are more "strong-willed" have PD traits themselves, so there's usually on-again, off-again nature to their friendship. But ultimately, they keep coming back. I suspect they love the drama.

Call Me Cordelia

This was first grade. I was a very precocious child in many ways. My Nparents were very proud of my being "smart" and directly coached me to lord it over the other kids. Naturally, I had few friends. At recess one day some other kids were taunting me that they knew my favorite word: "WRONG!" That exact retort was on the tip of my tongue and I choked it back, and burst into tears. A teacher came over and I told her what had happened and what I was about to say but didn't. She said something like, "Well, that wasn't very nice of them but now you know people don't like to be spoken to like that... You know I've noticed you can be a know-it-all."

"But I'm just saying what my daddy told me to say! He says everybody's going to hate me my whole life because I'm smarter than them so I may as well get used to it."

"Of course he didn't mean that..."  :blink: I don't remember what she actually said but it was some kind of rug-sweeping. But I remember how disturbed she was. I stopped taking social advice from my uNPD uASPD uOCPD father after that moment. But I still suffered horribly at school.

AnneH

My earliest memory of clear PD behavior is of when other mothers at dance lessons or school would ask uNM "Are you AnneH's mom?" She would answer "No" and wait for them to look confused, and then explain: "I am not AnneH's mom. AnneH is MY DAUGHTER," followed by a lesson about how you can't let yourself be defined by your children. Of course, at that age (I would guess around 6) I had no awareness of PDs; i was just weary of uNM always making a mountain out of a molehill and always making everything about herself.
We are also (non-observant) members of a minority religion. I have always been aware that most people celebrate Christmas, so when cashiers at the supermarket or other people we didn't know would wish us a merry Christmas, I would always say "Thank you; you too." But unM would always step in  to teach whoever it was a lesson about respecting other people's religions and NOT assuming that everyone celebrates Christmas (I would also get reprimanded for not doing the same).