conversations from the borderline

Wow.  Eldest is back at it.  We're in unstable territory . . . the land of tornados . . . roller coasters . . . and generally a lot of stuff that does not make sense.  I'm not 100% sure, but this one seems to be borderline related, not bipolar.  There is a lot of attempt at drama and illness.  And there is some truth mixed in with the mess (she has a cold, she hurt her finger, an acquaintance had open heart surgery yesterday), but the drama sucks.  If she would just take the damn meds we wouldn't have to live like this.

I was supposed to take her to the doctor today because her car is in the shop.  But she can't find her purse, so now she won't go.  And, no, I'm not allowed to help her find her purse.  Why?  I have no clue.


So we've resorted to electronic communication inside the same house:

Me:  If you change your mind, I'll be here for a bit.

Eldest:  There's no point.  my purse is gone.  I'll just have to deal with it. Just go to work.  I can't deal with this and I just.  Whatever.  It's not like it's important anyways.

Me:  I am here for a bit and I'm not going to respond to the rest.  And Eldest . . . I'm really, really sorry about Nacho [the guy who had surgery].

Eldest:  I'm sorry mom.  Have a good day at work.

Me:  I'm sorry you're miserable.  I know I can't but if I could, I would fix it.

Eldest:  I just can't deal with any of this right now.  It's not even me being irrational.  I know if the doctor said anything bad about my hand I'd just break down.  And I know something is wrong with it, because I can barely move my whole hand [as I type this, I am watching her remove a rubber-banded-in bow from the dogs ears...she is moving her hand with great dexterity and strength].  But I just can't handle going to the doctor.  Just like everything else.

Me: [not responding]

Eldest: I'll just have to see a doctor some other time or likely just not see one.  I'm sorry you had to deal with this.

Me:  I love you.

Eldest: I'm sorry.

[Two minutes pass as I make tea.]

Eldest:  I won't ask you to take care of this again.  I'll get dad or someone to [she lectured me this morning on how her dad will never believe she's sick and help her--and the truth is, while he's not my favorite person right now, he would help her if she was injured].  I feel too bad about today to ask your help again.  I need to go because I can't stop crying and it hurts to text.

Me:  Eldest, I'm here for you and you haven't inconvenienced me.  I'll leave for work soon and be there in just fine time.  Think about borrowing the car Thursday afternoon if you feel more stable then.

Eldest:  I won't be able to drive.  There's no way.  Even if my anxiety didn't exist my hand would make if impossible.!  And I can't ask your help either.  I just have to deal.

Then she came downstairs and snuggled the dog.  


She stood up and I asked her to hand me something.

She announced she's in a really, really bad mood and can't help me out.  But she handed me the item, and then the flip switched again.  She screamed, "I was in a good mood and now I'm in a really bad mood . . . and I just can't . . ."  And ran off upstairs, slamming doors and knocking down things.  

Photo from here.

I'm just left here, shaking my head.  Knowing there is nothing I can do that can quell the storm in her heart and her mind.  


What I said above is true, "I know I can't, but if I could, I would fix it."  Sure, I'd fix the little things that are bothering her today.  But mostly, I just wish I could fix this thing that takes away my darling daughter. Today you get a house from the borderline . . .