Why Me?

*Warning: this post may be triggering.

Current thinking around the development of BPD can be summed up as this.

“We don’t know!”

However, an individual with a genetic vulnerability who also experiences trauma, neglect or on-going invalidation during their childhood years may well develop BPD which is most commonly diagnosed in the early 20’s of sufferers.  This is true for a high percentage of those with a formal diagnosis.  This was certainly true in my case.

It isn’t an exact science though.  Some sufferers experience no significant traumas or neglect, come from loving and supportive homes and yet still develop BPD.  For this reason, there are suggestions amongst some researchers that the biological vulnerability may be more significant than the childhood environment.

I’m going to tell you a bit about my childhood experience in snapshot form.  Not the whole story – I’ve not been blogging long enough to be sure if I’m comfortable with that yet.  Maybe further down the line!

I had two parents and one older brother.  We lived in a rented semi-detached house in an average suburban town.  The problems started when I was very young (maybe 3 or 4), although I can’t exactly remember – and it could have been normal sibling disharmony at first.  The bullying from my brother escalated over the years.  By the time I was 7 and him 9 he hit me and terrorised me on an almost daily basis.  When I told my parents or aunty I always got the same response,

“What did you do to provoke him?”

 I learned that it was my fault and I deserved it.  By the time I was at high school I had stopped even trying to ask for help to stop him.  It was just my normal life.  I would come home from school and hide till my mum came home and it was a bit safer.  I was often bruised, but at school the marks were never noted or questions asked about them.
 

There was other stuff too.  Like the time I got impetigo all over my face.  My mum refused to take me to the Dr (and under 16s weren’t allowed to go without a parent).  It didn’t get sorted till my dad caught it, got treatment at work which I stole when he came home.  Another time I was knocked unconscious at a sports event.  I went home with my mum.  The next night the pain in my head was so bad I could not see and I was screaming.  My parents told me to go back to bed and did nothing.  These and other similar events just added to my belief that I did not matter or exist in their eyes except as a punch bag and skivvy and that expecting help or support from anywhere was pointless.

At high school I couldn’t fit in, perhaps partially because I was brighter than most of my peers.  I was bullied and an object of ridicule for 3 out of 5 years, and it continued, though less intense, when I went to Sixth Form College.  By this time my separate coping selves were quite well established and outwardly I appeared to function fairly well.  I protected myself in an aloof cocoon, not seeking help because this was my life, my norm.

And so the scene was set.  Genetic vulnerability (I assume as there is no specific test for this), a history of neglect, abuse and serious invalidation (not being believed or not having needs and emotions taken seriously).