2018 has been a very bad year for my family on multiple fronts (2013-2017 weren’t so great either), but it’s my oldest daughter (18) that keeps me up at night. I don’t normally air personal problems to anyone (preferring to keep the mood light), but I feel a need to vent and do so anonymously. Even if no one reads this (it’s long and not exactly holiday-festive), just writing it gives relief.
Oldest daughter: Pam
Youngest daughter: Kim
Not their real names
[dialogue is as accurate as I recall, though obviously paraphrased]
The Good:
Pam popped out of the uterus full bore. After I cut her umbilical cord, she just kept accelerating through life.
A few months after she started kindergarten, her teacher visited me at my home and said, *“your daughter’s gifted. I know all the signs, because I myself have a gifted daughter. She doesn’t solve problems the way you’re supposed to solve problems … but, she always gets the right answer. She’s too young to be tested, but I recommend that she get tested as soon as she can.” *
Pam got tested a couple years later. I was called in to meet with her teacher, principal and the district superintendent. “Your daughter scored higher than anyone in our county, ever. She needs to be on the gifted-track.” She’s been on that track ever since.
Her scholastic achievements have been stellar: straight As, 1st place in science fairs, math contests and most recently, art contests.
I didn’t see the art thing coming until she made a new friend who was, by all accounts, a gifted young artist—mainly anime. Pam’s initial artwork was crude, but showed potential. She said, “Jill’s a better artist than me.” She didn’t say it with any any envy, she sounded proud of her friend’s talent.
Within a year Pam’s talent eclipsed that of her friend’s, significantly. She now takes classes at art school after HS classes 2 days a week and also works part time at Taco Bell. When she has time (I don’t know how she finds any time with her self-imposed schedule) she sells some of her artwork for good money. She uses a variety of media. Much of her art is disturbing.
Pam’s not all school and no play. She did well (though not stellar) on the swim team, soccer team and softball team. Neither girl stuck with piano lessons, much to my chagrin.
She’s not a nerd. She hangs around with troublemakers and gets into trouble herself on occasion. And, she drives like a maniac. She barely passed the driving part of her drivers test. The instructor said, “your daughter’s got a heavy lead foot.” She’s acquired a couple speeding tickets already. Her sister and I white-knuckled it whenever we’re in the car with her. She won’t slow down.
She’s very loving and compassionate. Loves animals. Vegan. Turned her younger sister vegan. Still trying to turn me vegan. She lectures me constantly and shows documentaries on animal cruelty and meat processing plant horrors.
She’s hyper-sensitive, but hides it with a tough exterior. She loves to debate intelligent people on any number of deep subjects. She does so passionately, not aggressively. I don’t recall the last time she lost a debate. Perhaps she never did.
She’s got a razor-sharp wit. I’m pretty sarcastic, but I can’t compete with her.
To top it off, she’s physically attractive. I’m not just speaking as a proud, delusional father—the girl could be a model. She turns heads and has no shortage of guys who want to be her boyfriend (she usually picks the bad ones, though).
Sounds almost perfect doesn’t she? Kind of like like a fairy tale story. But, it’s not.
The Bad:
Pam started cutting herself at age 11 (“it makes me feel comfortable, dad. I can’t stop”). Her psychologist reported that she’s had suicidal ideation since age 12. I was scared to wake her for school for years, crossing my fingers every time I opened her bedroom door.
She was later diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. She’s got a good psychiatrist, psychologist and case worker. She takes psychotropic medication.
She is and has always been very close to her sister and I. She and her sister fought like cats and dogs since Kim took her first steps in diapers, but they’ve always had each other’s back. Now that they don’t live together, they’re closer than ever, texting and calling each other constantly.
Pam felt the weight of too many bad influences in her life and pleaded with me to let her move, at least temporarily, in with “family” who live in a town she really likes, ~1000 miles away. I was devastated to see her go, but I gave her permission to move when she was 16. She’s built a new life for herself and new friends and now she’s pleading for Kim and I to move to her town. I would if I could. But, at least she comes back to stay with us holidays and vacations.
Pam’s on top of the world 98% of the time. It’s the other 2% where things go to hell.
She attempted suicide twice over the past 18 months and nearly succeeded the second time. Her psychologist said it wasn’t a plea for help or a drama show—she really wanted to end her life. She spent weeks each time in a psychiatric hospital. When the depression lifted, she drove the doctors crazy debating with them. “Your daughter’s exceptionally bright and she loves to argue with us”, said one doc. “Yeah, tell me about it”, said I. He replied, “She even tells us how best to treat her and she’s pretty spot on. She’s almost convinced me to stop eating meat, too.”
Pam calls her sister and I often, sometimes at 3am, and we talk for hours. She called as soon as she got phone privileges from the hospital after her second attempt. She didn’t wallow in self pity (which would be expected). She simply said, “I’m sorry, dad.” The haunting way she said it broke my heart. And, then, *“Sometimes, I just don’t want to be alive.” *
I told her, “you have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve got a disorder that can be successfully treated and controlled. You’ve just got to learn ways to ride out the dark moments.”
She called again after she was discharged and I asked her what triggers her suicidal thoughts.
She said, “it’s because, I’m not perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect. Strive for happiness, not perfection. Perfection isn’t obtainable, by anyone. You can be happy, though and that’s what life should be about”
“I won’t be happy unless I’m perfect. If I see an artist more talented than me, I get depressed. If I see anyone do anything better than me, I get depressed. I can’t help it.”
No one in Pam’s life put undue pressure on her to succeed. She has always exceeded all of our expectations. Her drive for perfection is internal; it’s innate; it’s unrealistic, but she can’t shake it.
A few months ago, she admitted herself into the hospital because she felt suicidal once again. At least that’s a glimmer of hope and progress. To me it means she recognized pending depression and took steps to prevent it before hitting rock bottom and acting on the compulsion. When she’s not depressed, she loves life and she lives it large.
I flew Kim out to be with her sister last week for the holidays. We talk daily and they are both in very high spirits!
Kim: “I’m having a great time, dad. But, Pam’s driving me crazy and she still drives too fast.”
Pam: “I’ve got too many cats (3), I’m giving one to Kim to take home, OK?”
Me: *“Nooo!” *
Hearing my daughters laugh and joke around is my Christmas present. I’m happy when they’re happy. I wish it could always be that way, but I’ll always be scared when I get a call from an unknown number from Pam’s area code.
BPD is a horrible thing to be afflicted with. I’d do anything to rid my daughter of it.
