Yeah, you’re pretty much right to be jaded when it comes to BPD. One of the things a shrink friend of mine had told me was that like narcissists, one of the attributes is a pronounced feeling that the rest of the world is fucked up and not them. They often disregard treatment options and advice as being ridiculous. Kind of sucks because they need the help more than most. I’d rather hang with a schizophrenic than someone with BPD.
I have a good friend who won’t shut up. I’ve been over at her house, invited over to watch a movie I “just have to see - you’re going to love it!” (I seldom watch movies or TV at home). So I go over there, she puts in the movie, and procedes to talk throught the entire movie. I think she is afraid of silence.
I’ve known two borderlines and they both committed suicide. My SIL became a clinical psychologist and wanted to work with borderlines because her late mother was one (another suicide). She stopped accepting them as patients after a while because they didn’t respond to anything she did. Now she gets mad if anyone brings up borderlines at all.
Tell me about it. My oldest daughter was diagnosed BPD about two years ago. Difficult to live with, I’ll tell you. She’s also bipolar. She does do pretty well when she’s on meds, but because of the BPD, no one can get her to stay on meds! And, yep, when she’s manic, you can’t shut her up! I was in the hospital during one of her manic phases, and she was calling me, eight and ten times a day when there was no one else to talk to. I tried hard to convince her that I was sick and supposed to be resting, which is hard to do when your phone rings every ten minutes. But it did no good. I was wishing for the old days when the hospital nurse had to patch a caller through to the patient’s room, so I could tell them not to put her calls through to me!
My mother and one of my brothers is this way… especially on the phone. Any time I get on the phone with one of them, it seems I say two words during the call: “hello” and “goodbye”. Otherwise, I sit is silence for an hour, wondering when blood will start pouring from my ear, as they ramble on in excrutiating detail about anything that pops into their heads.
My brother is a precision machinist and aviator. His attention to detail is unparalleled. Accordingly, he is excellent at what he does.
He took up trumpet for a while and I asked him how it was going.
Instead of simply saying, “I’m taking lessons, I practice about an hour a day, and having fun with it,” I got a detailed one-sided lecture on music theory, the psychological benefits of playing music, how music is like learning another language, how musicians are typically better at visualizing spacial relationships, how the trumpet valves work, how to alter pitch by moving your lips, how to insluate your room for sound by using certain materials at certain thicknesses to block certain wavelengths of sound, etc…
My mother is even worse becuase her stories never have any point. She goes on and on about how traffic is getting worse in her town, how someone almost cut her off, how they should really put a light at that one intersection, how she had to call the city because someone’s bushes were partially blocking a sidewalk, etc.
AGONY!
Isn’t hyperlexia one of the symptoms they look for in diagnosing Asperger’s?
I think this really depends - for example I work with 2 women who are huge talkers:
Woman A - Talks all the time, will talk about kids, her house, her hubby, etc. However, she’ll also let you talk about your dog, work gripes, new boots, whatever. While she dominates every conversation, you can still express an idea of your own once and a while.
Woman B - Talks all the time, always about herself and her problems. You could announce that you had a terminal illness, and her response would be to go back to complaining about how her coffee that AM wasn’t hot enough. Additionally, she’ll gosip about her friends to people that don’t know them - big deal, right? Well, until it turns out that they do know them and Ms. Blabby-Mouth has passed on personal or embarasing stories - thankfully, I’m not this woman’s friend, however, given the number of details I know about her affair with a married man, the subsequent fireworks when the wife found out, and her disgruntlement that he stayed with his wife, rather than being with her, you’d think we were best buds.
I trust the difference is clear - Woman A - chatty Cathy, no big deal, has many friends and normal relationships. Woman B - pathalogical, potentially diagnosable, certainly not psychologically healthy.
So - I guess it depends on what sort of compulsive talking we’re talking about. 
My problem is that I tend to babble a lot when I’m nervous, or when I’m tired. Half the time I don’t even notice I’m doing it.
So please, if someone IS doing this, say straight out, “Please, you’re talking too much” or whatever. A lot of people are too afraid to say anything, then you find out they’re annoyed with you, and you wonder what you did.
(Oh, and I have OCD and ADHD, which probably explains it).
There is an old family friend of ours who is like this. Personally, I suspect she suffers from depression and perhaps bipolar disorder, but who knows. She basically never stops talking – it’s an ordeal trying to have a conversation with her, especially if there is something you want to know. One day she called to say her husband was in the hospital. Basically, I immediately wanted two pieces of information (1) is he alright? (he was) and (2) what was the medical condition that required him to go to the hospital? (blocked artery). But she just was unable to get to those two points, because she had to relate the entire series of events of the day and every word of every conversation (with frequent corrections) and a number of digressions to side topics. I had to stop her and tell her “You’re giving me too much information. Just tell me what’s wrong with him.”
Ugh.
Really?? Someone was in a car driving away from my coworker in the parking lot as he walked along side her car, continuing to talk- That’s not subtle. What did the speaker think she was doing? Does he his brain not process her driving away as the end of the conversation?
I’m not being a smartass, I’m seriously asking.
Sometimes it can be related to loneliness. When we used to visit my maternal grandmother, she couldn’t stop talking the first day. It was like she had to relate every single thing that had happened to her and anyone she knew for the past year as quickly as possible.
She lived alone in a small rural town and didn’t drive or get out much, especially in her later years, so she was pretty much dependent on visits from friends or her children, all of whom lived at least an hour’s drive away. She would settle down after a few days.
My other grandmother didn’t seem similarly afflicted, but she had a car and lived in a city.
I’ve also seen the phenomenon in military types–usually younger guys. They seem compelled to tell an endless monologue of anecdotes. I’ve conceived the theory that it’s due to long hours of boredom. My brother used to have the syndrome, but he seem to have grown out of it as he’s gotten work more engrossing than standing guard over something all night.
I probably should have explained this better. It’s not as if I’m straight in front of him at 12:00 and he’s looking at 1:00 or 11:00–not even 2:00 or 10:00. The closest he gets is 9:00 or 3:00. When facing you, he will literally turn his head at least 90 degrees away from you. Nor is he looking at something interesting that happens to be away from you. He will see you come up to him, quickly turn his head sharply away from you, and start talking.
Give us a brief description of Borderline Personality Disorder?
And how about Fullfledged(?) Personality Disorder?
I can only speak for myself. I would know that conversation had ended, but I probably wouldn’t make the connection to “I must talk too much” unless I was told, or after many, many repetitions. I’d probably think she was just in a hurry, or maybe rude. If someone told me I talk too much, though, I would understand, and would try to correct the problem.
This was me, until I trained myself to consciously not do it. I like having friends that I can have discussions like that with, though. And this message board is a great place for people like that…
That is weird. Maybe he’s a reincarnation of Johann Heinrich Lambert:
Rather than hijack this thread, why not start one in GQ asking about it? Or in IMHO, about whether it really can be treated successfully?
It’s not a fun thing to learn about, nor is it fun to be attached to someone with BPD.
My boss talks incessantly but it’s not pathological. He just talks a lot and makes even the most extroverted person feel like a church mouse. I find it to be his biggest flaw because he ends up saying stuff he shouldn’t (like he’ll say negative things about my colleagues) and he won’t let you get a word in edgewise, which means you often to forget to tell him important things.
I used to work with a woman who was on the edge of pathological talkativeness. I mean, the woman would kill you with her rambling anecdotes. Her sweetness made it worse because I would feel guilty for tuning her out.
There was another guy I worked with during the same time that was a pathological talker. We all decided that he had Asperger’s Syndrome because he not only talked ALL the time, but he talked about the same things and could never tell when you wanted him to shut up. Like, you’d say “Goodbye Tim!” and it would be like he couldn’t hear you.
Then one day I volunteered for AIDS WALK Atlanta, and one of the volunteers was crazy talker. I don’t know if she was mentally ill, but I think she was.
I didn’t know you play trumpet! 
I am surrounded by people who cannot shut.the.fuck.up.
Exhibit A: My FIL. Goes on and on about nothing for a good hour and no one pays attention to him. ( My MIL has an ulcer and high BP. She never says much.) Pretty much the unwritten rule is to never make eye contact with him.
I can honestly say that one of the most perverse pleasures I’ve had in my life was after the inlaws were in their accident, the doctor who reviewed my FIL was convinced he had a brain injury. We had been with him quite a bit after the accident and saw zero wrong with him. I mean zero. He had never lost consciousness at all.
Find out the doctor was asking him the standard questions deciding mental capacity " Who was president when you were born…"and the like and the dipshit was not taking into account that my FIL is german born. I, the quiet shoot from the hip kinda gal that I am, said, " Uhhhh, hey, did you happen to notice zee accent? Zee first name of Siegfried? Uhhh, well, maybe the reason he couldn’t answer the question of Who was president when he was born is because it was fucking Hitler! I’ve mellowed since then. Now I’d say a Goddamn Nazi. :rolleyes: (And this wasn’t exactly a resident on his rotations either, which I would have been far kinder.)
So in my malicious glee I suggested this doctor ask my FIL something about WW2, which he was born in 1941. My FIL just eats up ww2 stuff and stuffs it in his mental lockbox like a packrat. The doctor goes in there and just gets the oxygen sucked out of him by my FIL incessant ramblings of stream of conscious-nothingness.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
(FIL was upgraded from Possible Brain Damage to Nothing Wrong.)
Exhibit B: My husband is a stream of consciousness talker. Oh.Dear.God. Driving trips are always a hoot because if I am not armed with a book to divert myself, he will fill up the empty space of the car/truck/van with words. Wonderful man in every capacity but this. I pointed out to him once that " Hey, y’notice something? We’ve been driving three hours and you have not stopped talking and I haven’t said a word. Not one. Did someone pull the string on your back to release this babble? I’m trying to read my book here. You have sports radio to lose yourself in…"
He was silent for at least a minute and then forged right on …but in a lesser degree.
His favorite MO is to pounce on the bed when I’m reading and just blah blah blah.
I point out that, " I’m reading here."
He throws in some guilt of " Maybe I just want to talk to my lovely wife…"
" Oh, well, why not ask me how was my day?"
“How was your day?”
“Fine, now bugger off I"m reading.”
" Oh, that’s not nice. Maybe I want to make love to you."
“Silence turns me on.”
( Pause) " It’s not like I’m going to get anything to night…blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…" and I hit him with the book or fake my death. Lather rinse repeat.
Since I know him so well, when he is talking to people and I sense a story coming on that has no relevance to what the previous discussion is, I head him off at the pass and say, " Why are you going to tell the story about You and Ken and the lake ?"
He looks affronted, " How do you know I 'm going to tell that story?"
" I know you better than you do."
“Maybe i was going to tell the story of…”
I heartless interrupt, " Of you and Ken and Chuck doing X?"
He looks at me shifty eyed because that is the very next story in his repertwa whatever, " Maaaaybeee…"
“Either story has no point or punchline. Let these nice people talk.”
His friends just about pee themselves when I do this. Yeah, it’s not polite, but neither is diarehea of the mouth. Offsetting penalties. No loss of yards. It’s not love, baby, it’s competition.
Exhibit C: Our son. A 7 year old tsunami of verbage. Constant verbage. If I didn’t have our daughter to constantly distract him or irritate him, I might have sold him to the gypsies awhile ago. (The only part of me in him that I can see is his love of reading and his ability to wrap you up in logic to win his side of an argument. So, I have that going for me.)
Exhibit D: My very good friend R. I realized she was the reincarnate of my not dead father in law when I asked the simple question, “What is the first injury you remember?” She went on for at least 45 minutes about the neighborhood she grew up in, the kids on the street, the pitch of the lawn that ended up causing her injury, the broken leg she got and then all the follow up injuries over the next 15 years and how her twin sister never had any injuries… When she finally came up for air and it was my turn to answer the question, I said, " I had a hot iron fall on my back when I was 10 months old. Next! "
I love R. She is the female version of my husband. She got me into bowling and I blame her weekly for the maschochistic sport that it is, but driving to bowling 36 Wednesday in a row and then sitting there with her and driving home…it sucks the life out, y’know? Her husband, whom I adore in a nonsexual way cause he is the male version of me with sarcasm and pop cultural references, said to my husband, " Y’ever notice that Shirley lost her hearing in the ear that faces R in the car?"
Her husband and I have decided that if R and Mr. Ujest married, the world would implode from the lack of oxygen.
Exhibit Whatever: AM bowled with us for two seasons. A wonderful person who is nearly exactly like the lady described with the sexual abuse background above. Every wednesday AM would hijack the entire convo about how they have no money, how this addition on the house was a nightmare ( oy! it was the classic example of how not to do an addition from every sense of the word. Everything went wrong on it. E.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. -all of us have husbands in the building trades.) and how her husband didn’t do shit around the house ( well join the club.) The problem really was because of the five of us, one of us would be constantly up bowling, so when you returned, she would just start where you missed off to get up and reiterate exactly what she had just told everyone else.verbatim. It was freaky. We diagnosed her (behind her back)with a host of mental issues and OCD and ADHD were the clear cut winners. She did get help (YAY!) and for a few weeks, it was really nice. Then the verbage started again and we found out she took herself off the meds because she didn’t like being out of control. (Oh, she’s a critical care nurse too.) To save our Mental Health Night…we changed bowling alleys this year…and it was too far for her. So she has been replaced by a ADHD chainsmoking drunk of my friend R. Should be a fun season but at least we will get new stories to hear! woot!
I have decided these people are put in my life to teach me a lesson or punish me for something I’ve done in a previous life. Take your pick.
Do I think it is a mental illness? It can be.
I think it can be also self esteem issues as well as lonliness and boredom. It can be also a lack of etiquette: having never learned the proper methods of conversational intercourse.
Beatings for everyone!
I’ll shut up now. 
I don’t do the “help I’m talking and I can’t shut up” thing. But I tend to be one of those people who gets extremely uncomfortable with too much silence, depending upon the person I’m with.
Some people’s silences seem to push me trying to “get a conversation going” or “lighten things up”. But I am VERY quick on the ball to pick up on their cues of not wanting to talk or listen. If after a few attempts I very quickly give up. And my lesson learned is to stay away from those sorts.
But at the same time, I’m aware that it’s my problem, not theirs.