Though they are more talked about now than my childhood. Can we take a minute to think about the illness called Borderline Personality Disorder. Like how you get the disorder is from very traumatizing childhoods. Not knowing anything about it, living in survival mode not even knowing what those words even mean. No safe person to run to, isolating and crying for hours  into a pillow so no one hears you. To just be seen as a child and not a slave for my parents because we owe it to them for bringing us into this world. Knowing if you told anyone what happens at home could potentially mean losing your parents and ending up in foster care and could get separated from my sister. If I would have opened my mouth about my mom has already put a bad name out for my sister and I. Thought I’d  have more of a fighting chance for someone to believe me. Unfortunately with my sister being diagnosed at 7, our parents had an easy time making my sister out to be such a storyteller. I’m the baby who got stuck raising my older sister and parents. We lost our dad to depression, my sister didn’t know how to handle it and was hit by a car a few months after. Turned into just my mom and I, she gave up on life in 2010 after her accident. 2012 was my sister’s accident and I was 14 taking care of my mom by myself. Never learning how to cope with feelings, never putting myself first. Stepping out of my comfort zone wasn’t possible. All the trauma and people leaving when they promised they never would. Years of wondering what’s so wrong with yourself that no one stays. Growing older and a mother and having people leave your life and hate your guts because of trying to warn them how my mom is. I’m now 27 and a year ago my aunt moved in with us. The things I’ve told her I’ve seen her eyes sink telling me she would have taken us if she knew. That’s the thing abusive parents don’t want the title so in closed doors is the only place you see their true self. They sour their own children’ names to save theirs. Here at 27 I still don’t know how to cope with life. Not getting diagnosed till 24 didn’t help at all. Always knew I was different from everyone. I had intense emotions, wondering why I had more feelings than my peers. Not knowing I’m in fight or flight and not truly present in day to day life. Zoning out not wanting to make new friends for them to meet the real me and leave because of it. Not trying things because of being afraid to fail and disappoint my parents, gave them more leverage for the mental abuse. Not allowed to gain work ethnic because school is more important to find out she wanted control of all money, My child support was mine from the end of January to July, she kept it. Her fear of being alone made her believe that guilt tripped me to not move and find my own life. Reminding me we only have each other making me feel guilty if I wasn’t there. My mom had a stroke in 2022 and it completely flipped my world around. I was alone for the first time in 24 years. I had to keep going and not give up for my own daughter. That’s not understanding why granny’s in the hospital and telling me she’s with Jesus and not the dr. Fighting for her life because she’s my mom and I don’t want to lose her. She survived and I didn’t lose her to the sky. However I lost all respect for her. Giving my life and job up to be at the hospital every day alone. Keeping the bills paid. Making sure my daughter was taken care of and not missing school. Completely making the house for her to come home and not have fall risks. She was pissed, not happy. She didn’t see it as me going out of my way and she wasn’t ever grateful about it. I’m her child why she had me, it’s my duty as her daughter. Seeing her so selfish and ungrateful made me start to hate her. Our relationship is ruined and the one I thought we had when I was glued to her side was all just her breeding me to be a caretaker so she knew she’d always be taken care of even if it takes her daughter’s true purpose in life away before she could even find it. Here we are 3 years later and she’s worse than when she left the hospital. Using her stroke as another crutch to use to become completely helpless makes me hate her even more. I never saved her to watch her again rot away on a chair and this time it truly is going to take her right side. I’ve never been the same since her stroke. I went through it all alone taking care of her everyday 24/7 for months. Just to watch her sit in her chair and lose everything she worked so hard on to get home to that stupid fucking chair. I’m left with so much trauma and she can still look me dead in the face saying I’m imagining that because that never happened. My whole childhood was imagination. Then why am I stuck with BPD? If it was all made up why do I have days like today where I’m bawling for no reason wanting to end it all. A stupid mental illness I never asked for but must be lying about since the childhood I remember never happened at all.