Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) - the Life of a Sufferer

My best friend suffers from BPD. I'll call her Mary to protect her true identity; I'll also change some of the personal details of her life. But the story itself is true.

Mary and I became friends because we worked together, and she was there for me during a difficult time in my life. And as our friendship grew, I was there for her when her husband Dave was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Dave was a wonderful man, and he and Mary seemed like the perfect couple. So many times during Dave's 13-year battle with cancer, Mary was the one who kept the doctors on their toes and kept Dave from giving up when I know he wanted to be left alone to die. She never abandoned the fight, and I mean fight. Mary told me about her arguments with the doctors and the demands she put on all the medical staff. She told me about screaming at Dave to take his medications and calling the doctor at the slightest change. I didn't totally understand why she would alienate the very people who were there to help, but neither did I ever hear Dave complain about her running interference for him. The medical staff all loved Dave for his humor and patience and kindness, when most of us would've been much less. Mary, on the other hand, was clearly despised by those same people.

Dave and Mary had no children, although Mary confided that she had been pregnant several times during their marriage and purposely aborted the babies. I never understood how she could do that or why Dave would go along with such a thing. It wasn't like she didn't like kids; she absolutely adored her nieces and nephews, and she was their favorite aunt. I've since learned she aborted the babies because, as she put it, "I couldn't share Dave with kids."

As the years went by and Dave became sicker, Mary had an affair with Steve, a former co-worker. She even introduced me to him once when I stopped by the hospital to visit Dave, and there was Steve! After a couple of years, Steve grew tired of the relationship. He wanted to marry and have a family and decided to end the affair. With each of Steve's new female friends, however, Mary would do what she could to ruin the relationship. Once she had a criminal record check done on Steve's newest girlfriend. She took the little bit of information she found and turned it over to both Steve and the girlfriend's employer. I couldn't understand why she would do that. I mean, how could she begrudge Steve's happiness; why would she purposefully try to ruin an innocent woman's career? "I'm just looking out for him," she said. "He deserves better than a criminal." A criminal? I later learned it was an old drunk driving conviction that made this woman "a criminal."

Eventually it came time for me to plan my exit (retirement) from the company. Mary began questioning why I wanted to retire and suggesting all the reasons why I shouldn't. She cited all the people depending on me, etc. Again, I couldn't understand why she didn't want me to be happy. She knew I'd been looking forward to retirement and the chance to do something else with my life; she knew I wanted to live closer to family. Eventually she confessed, "You'll move away and I'll never, ever see you again."

Well, I retired and a year later it was time to move "home." Sure enough, Mary did every manipulative thing she could think of to keep me from moving. Her reasoning was irrational and selfish, in my opinion. I didn't understand. Why wouldn't she want her best friend to be happy? We all face change and losses, but we go on. I moved without her support, but our friendship continued as well as one does long distance. She kept me posted on our mutual friends and Dave's deteriorating health.

As Dave's disease progressed, Mary called me several times, confiding that she could no longer stand to see Dave suffer and wanted to come up with a plan to help him die. In the plan, she would die with him because "I won't live without him," she said.

Dave's suffering eventually ended, without Mary's help. He died at home in the early morning hours. In a panic, Mary dialed 911. But when paramedics arrived, she went bezerk, for lack of a better word. She had to be restrained by police to the point of being bruised because she refused to stay out of the way of the paramedics and emergency room personnel. Her hysteria was beyond anything any of her friends and family expected, given the many years Dave languished and his desire to be left in peace to die.

Then came the funeral. An absolutely one-of-a-kind extravaganza. Mary looked and acted like the queen of the ball, or so I'm told. I was able to make the 1100-mile journey just once and decided to go a couple weeks after the funeral to be able to spend quality and individual time with my friend. I later learned Mary was furious with me. "I wanted you HERE!," she shouted at me later.

The days I spent with Mary after the funeral were torturous. I watched her tear up unopened cards and letters from caring friends and family, screaming sarcastically that she hoped they had a wonderful life too. I was appalled on the one hand and felt so helpless on the other. I hardly slept the entire time I was there, fearful of what she might do to herself, but also wanting to "be there" if she needed me. I was so torn and felt like I was being pushed away and pulled back in, all at the same time. At times I thought I was "the crazy one." Maybe I wasn't being sympathetic enough; maybe I really didn't understand; maybe I should've attended the funeral; maybe I should've been there more for both of them. But regardless of my approach, it wasn't the right one or good enough. One minute she practically hated me; the next minute she would sob and want to be held because "you're the only one who understands me."

In the months that followed the drama of Dave's long-term illness, death, and funeral, Mary became an unrecognizable freak. She refused to eat (at least publicly), refused to take prescribed medications for high blood pressure and cholesterol (so she'd have a heart attack, die, and "be with Dave"), refused to either quit her job or work while she was in the office. She made her presence on the job known by wandering the workplace halls, but without speaking to anyone and just grunting if spoken to. According to co-workers and friends, she seemed focused on drawing attention to herself, but pushing all attention away at the same time. She complained that no one called her anymore, but she turned friends away when they'd call or stop by, sometimes even yelling at them for not removing their shoes in her home or for not having come sooner. There was no winning with her. No one could do anything right.

After an intervention, Mary was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Among other things, she was diagnosed with BPD. Although she is resistant to treatment, medication as softened her symptoms. In the meantime, many of her friends and family have virtually walked away, tired of being verbally abused and tired of the mood swings, the angry outbursts, and the ongoing turmoil in general. As for me, I am trying to learn what I can about BPD to better understand how to maintain our friendship.

To begin with, I now have experienced how devastating BPD is for both the person who suffers and for those who love them and must interact with them. Although information about BPD is lacking when compared to many other mental illnesses, the signs and symptoms I've become familiar with certainly fit in Mary's case.

Experts describe several behavioral symptoms of BPD, and as Mary's story goes, she is a classic example. The BPD sufferer's relationships are in turmoil, often involving intense love-hate scenarios. One minute a significant other in their life is put on a pedestal or virtually idolized; the next minute the person is hated because of some perceived slight or maybe even a misunderstanding. The BPD sufferer tends to see their world in black or white, with very few gray areas. I vividly recall when a new boss (John) was hired at our office. He was badly needed and an excellent candidate. He was fair, even-handed, and appropriately interested in the family and personal lives of his employees. Mary "loved" him too; he could do no wrong - until he didn't acknowledge her and Dave's anniversary. From that time on, Mary labeled John a hypocrite, a slacker, insensitive, uncaring, etc. I didn't understand then, but I understand now.

Symptoms also include fear of being alone and difficulty controlling anger or rage, even to the point of physical confrontations or aggression. In thinking over Mary's history, it's so clear to me now. Although she actually had an endearing personality and undying sense of loyalty to her friends, much of that disappeared after Dave died. No one could understand; no one had ever suffered a loss like she had; no one really cared because they had their own family to go home to.

So, what am I to do? I don't know. I'm still studying and learning all I can, and when the answers come, I'll do what I can to follow through and resume our friendship. Until then, I grieve the loss of my best friend, Mary.