traumaresponse

My father was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. he has to do chemo therapy, then he will have surgery. The risk of death is about 95%.
Our relationship isn’t quite easy. When I was 10, my parents got divorced and my mother left us. My father, my brother and I were left alone. Then he hired a maid because he couldn‘t work and take care of the house and us kids. I was getting bad in school and always came back with poor grades. He yelled at me and wouldn’t talk to me for a few days or sometimes weeks.
I took care of my brother when my father or his maid weren’t around. I guess it was exhausting, but I don’t remember much from this age (0-14). I was told that my brother ran after my mother when she left us.

When I grew up, I showed the first symptoms of bpd. Of course I didn’t know it by then, but now I know, at the age of 24.
things got difficult and worse, and I didn’t like myself, nor was I happy.

I didn’t know that I was allowed to have needs. Feelings. I didn’t know what love was, I didn’t know I could ask for help. I didn’t even know there were emotions.

I was terrified of making mistakes because of the silent treatment. However, years later he started to date a women from parship. Apperently they liked each other and still do. She was..different. Speaking directly and giving me orders don’t work on me.
My walls were all up and I wasn’t even close to put them down.
At the age of 20 or 21 (I don’t remember) I moved out, to my mothers place. It was horrifying. But I made it to my own apartment with my girlfriend (we both have own apartments) and I’m definitely more happy like this.
I cut contact with my mother and brother, but there is my dad and his cancer.

On Friday I had to see him to change tires, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I felt guilty. I found myself in my people pleasing copy mechanism.
However, his girlfriend wouldn’t want to say hello because „I don’t want to spend more time with them, we don’t have to discuss this now“.
I hate her. I’m sorry, but for one time I have to admit it.

His Life expectancy depends on the cancers growth at the end of chemo therapy. Mabye three months, mabye six, mabye longer. But I don’t know. He doesn’t know.

And I’m worried.
I’m worried that I’m the worst person on earth.

But I have bpd and I can’t control my episodes. And right now I feel like a fool writing this (I don’t even know if I am going to post this)

#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Pain #silenttreatment #peoplepleasing #traumaresponse #Traumatized #help