Oh Joy!

1.    A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

I guess from a medical perspective todays blog might relate to the above diagnostic criteria for BPD (called splitting).  I’m not sure though.  I accept that I do have a tendency when an important or professionally influential relationship has a more intense moment, to polarise my opinions about the person to either good or bad.

For example, in my work I (my company) took on a fairly large project.  It was working in partnership with another organisation and a project steering group was established to keep the project in line with the aims and objectives agreed with the funder.  One person on this steering group was a “Maverick” or a “loose canon” or in terms of meeting funding requirements, “a total nightmare!”  As the person who was responsible to the funder, and for the running of the whole project it was my job to deal with her.  She did not respond well to any form of training / support / being told politely to come in line.  In the end I saw her as completely cancerous to work with (i.e. malignant and needing to be removed), I became ill and had to recruit a new director for the project.  She is still causing problems for the project now, and I still see her as 100% impossible to trust or work with.  The person who took over for me is nothing less than a saint.

Now you could say that fits with the diagnostic criteria shown above, and if it does, so be it.  The bottom line is, my opinion of her as a colleague and team member is totally right.  End of!

So, back to DBT.  I thought things were developing OK with Joy.  I didn’t 100% trust her, but then it’s early days.  I’ve only seen her seven times.

The last session didn’t start off particularly well.  I had completed a worksheet as homework and we set about discussing it.  There was one bit where she wanted me to see something differently.  I didn’t agree.  The question on the sheet asked for one thing and I answered it.  She thought I should have a different answer and set about trying to make me agree with her.  There wasn’t much radical acceptance going on here and I wasn’t feeling like a doormat either.  In the end I realised she wasn’t as good at disagreeing with me as other CPNs I have known.  For example, John can put forward an alternative point of view without it feeling like a confrontation – and he can even tell me I’ve got something completely wrong without making me feel useless.  He can also acknowledge when things have got a bit tricky and communicate he is still ok with me.

Having realised I was winning the argument I went and quoted the sheet to her and the logical nature of my response.  She gave up at that point and now I’m not sure she is able to help me. 

 At the end of the session she told me she had received the occupational health report request relating to my recent job offer.  She said she had dictated it the day before, it would be typed up that day and sent out the day after.  I let five days pass from the day it should have arrived and then phoned occupational health to see where things were up to.  The report had not arrived.   

I phoned Joy to see what had happened.  She said it was in her tray for checking, and then she would send it later on in the day.  I protested that she had said it would be sent the Thursday before.  She denied saying that it would be dealt with the week before.  It would’ve been ok if she’d said, “sorry, I didn’t manage to get it done then, but it will go today!”  That would’ve been disappointing but no harm done.  However, in denying what she did say to me she has broken trust.  She is unreliable and not honest.  This is not an example of “good / bad” relationships or splitting.  It is just a fact.

It gives me a dilemma regarding DBT.  

• ·         If I sack her as my therapist I lose the opportunity to do DBT and I really need and want to do it. 
• ·         If I challenge her formally it will be her word against mine and hers will be the winning voice because her team will back her up and I’m just a “Bolshy Borderliner” anyway. 
• ·         If I do nothing I will not get the benefit of the therapy because I don’t trust her.
• ·         If I talk to her about how I feel at our next appointment it might help but it will probably make things worse.

As the saying goes, “I am between a rock and a hard place!”

Tale of a Shaggy Dog - part 5

Jake's closing comment

After the day I went upstairs by myself we were even closer.  She didn’t go to school as much after that.  She would dress for school, go out and come back once her mum left for work so we had whole days at home together.  That was lovely!  It was good to be with her and not locked in the kitchen all day.  She still seemed sad, but she kept her promise to me.  When she was really sad she started to get angry.  One time she even kicked me – I was scared and she was devastated.  After that she used to beat her arm against furniture.  She said she was trying to break it, and got upset when she couldn’t.  I didn’t really understand, but like she stuck around for me, so I stuck by her.

When she was sixteen her brother left home. It was a bit more peaceful after that.

When she was nearly eighteen I became ill.  My heart and kidneys were failing and I asked a friend to write this down to give her because I knew I would be leaving her soon.  I needed her to know I’m glad she stuck around for me and that I hope and pray someone does the same for her.

Tale of a Shaggy Dog - part 4

Recounted by Jake.

We were hiding in her room one day when she told me about school.  She said she had no friends, even the people she hung around with had turned against her.  Calling someone “Penny” had become the ultimate insult amongst her year group.  

People from her brother’s year were picking on her, too scared to get back at him.  One day a boy she didn’t know walked up to her, punched her and said “that’s for your brother!” and walked away.  The other kids around her seemed not to notice. No-one commented.  She was so sad.  She stopped doing sports and dance and hid in her bedroom much of the time writing poems or in her diary. 

One day a few weeks later she got home well before her brother.  She was different.  I could feel the sadness from her but she pushed me away, locking me back in the kitchen and went upstairs.  I knew something was very wrong.  

When her brother got back, I slipped past him to find her.  She wasn’t downstairs so I did something I’d never done before.  I went upstairs without being taken by her.  Her bedroom door was pushed closed.  I nudged it with my nose and went in.  She was sat on the bed with one of her dad’s drinks and a bottle of sweets or something that she was eating.  I went and put my head on her lap willing her to understand that I loved and needed her.  She looked at me and tears fell onto my head.  I lifted my paw up to her and she took it and held it.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I don’t want to leave you but it’s too hard to stay.  I’m sorry.  I do love you.”  I looked up and nudged her arm with my nose.  I wanted her to cuddle me.  She lifted me onto her lap and held me tight, crying harder now.  After a while she spoke again.  “I won’t leave you.  No one else will feed you or walk you or care for you properly.  I promise I will stay till you don’t need me anymore.  Then it won’t matter.”

I stayed up there with her till her mum was home and shouted upstairs to see where she was, and to call me down.  What happened that day was our secret.

Tale of a Shaggy Dog - part 3

As told by Jake, the shaggy dog.

Another time her brother hit her while her Dad was home on leave.  She ran to him crying, asking him to stop her brother.  He held her brother so she could punch him back.  She went for his nose, he moved his head a bit and she got his teeth, not hurting him but cutting her hand.  Everyone else thought this hilarious, she just felt humiliated and furious at the injustice.  By the time she was twelve she had given up trying to mention anything about her brother’s behaviour to anyone.

At high school she was sometimes too embarrassed to do PE or swimming because of the bruises on her arms.  They were clearly hand prints from where she’d been pinned down. 

I missed her during these years.  She went out a lot doing sports and dance and drama.  She used to spend quite a bit of time upside down and stretching on her bedroom floor, or learning strange speeches.  She was still the one that remembered to feed and walk me though, and she still talked to me as she hid in her bedroom most days.

Tale of a Shaggy Dog - part 2

As the brother got older it happened more often.  By the time she was ten she didn’t bother trying to chill out watching TV unless he seemed to be in an especially mellow mood.  Most days she would rush to get home first, run upstairs and pretend not to be there till she felt it was safe to come out.  In the summer, she would dash back and either take me out for a walk – (those were my favourite days), or grab her bike to go to a friend’s house till her mum was back from work.

Of course, she tried to tell her mum, but she always asked her,

 “what did you do to provoke him?”  

Her mother could not accept that he might just do it for his own reasons.  She hated that.  She would sneak me up to her bedroom (which terrified me because I knew if her dad was home and caught me I’d be in big trouble).  Once up there we would curl up on her bed together and she would tell me she didn’t understand why her family didn’t love her, or even appear to notice her.

One day I thought he’d killed her.  They got home together – or rather he caught up with her at the back door and he was already in attack mode.

“I’m going to get you!”  I heard him snarl.  She was clearly scared, and trying to unlock the door.  She must’ve been terrified.  I heard the key drop.  She started to shout, 

“stop, plea..”  I heard some strange coughing noises and a thud.  The door opened and he stepped over her as he walked in.  She was on the floor.  It was a forever moment before she coughed and moved.  He’d strangled her!

Tale of a Shaggy Dog - part 1

My story - from a best friend's perspective, told by Jake my first dog and the cutest, most affectionate mongrel you could ever hope to meet.

I remember the day I found the family.  I was out of my kennel having a run in a field when I heard them.  I liked the sound of the older one so I bolted, squeezed through a hole in the hedge and straight to them.  That was it.  I was chosen.

I have to admit, I didn’t like travelling in the car.  I was sick and scared.  I cried like a tiny puppy.  Then we got to the house that was my new home.  I was a bit confused when I went in because it didn’t smell like the lady that chose me, but she came in too so it was alright.

Inside I was introduced to another lady, a boy and a small girl, but she didn’t really get to meet me till later.   

The boy took hold of me and gave me a cuddle.  He seemed quite pleased with me.  Apparently I was his eighth birthday present.  They talked a lot.  The boy wanted to call me “Patch” because of the patches on my back.   Lucky for me the lady said no, and persuaded him that Jake would be better.  That was the start of my new life.

My new owner soon lost interest in me.  He didn’t like taking me for walks or brushing my hair.  I became an independent sort of dog, squeezing through the hedge to the fields for a walk by myself whenever I could.  In the day I was locked in the kitchen by myself.  It would’ve been awful except for the girl.  She was the one who remembered to feed me and brush me.  She didn’t take me for walks though.  Her mum said she was too young at six.

I looked forward to the end of the day when the children would get home.  The key was hidden in the shed at the back so I would be waiting and jumping by the door.  If the boy got back first he would clip me to a chain by my kennel.  I didn’t like being chained up but at least it gave me a loo break.  When the girl got home, she would let me back into the house and sit by the fire with me watching TV till their mum got back from work.

Every now and then the boy would be in a bad mood.  I don’t know why, and it didn’t affect his indifference to me, but it was bad for the girl.  On those days he would wait till she settled in front of the TV.  Call me away and shut me in the kitchen.  Then he would hurt her.  I could hear her screaming for him to stop, but he didn’t.  Sometimes I heard him taunting her to plead for mercy, but she didn’t.  Then the screaming would be worse.  

Afterwards she would come and find me and hold me and tell me how much she hated her brother.  If he was still after her she would climb into my kennel, with me in front where he wouldn’t find her.  Other times she would move furniture against the door in her bedroom.  There she escaped to her imaginary world with a family in her dolls house, where when bad things happened, they were dealt with fairly and the adults cared for the children.