BPD Causes, or, My First Use of the Word “Hypochondriasis”

A friend recently sent me an article called “Emotional Hypochondriasis, Hyperbole, and the Borderline Patient” about the etiology (causes) and symptoms of borderline personality disorder, especially relating to hypochondria. Despite their sometimes befuddling jargon, the authors clearly expressed empathy for patients, their families and doctors, and said some wise things about the syndrome. I differ, however, on the issue of causes.

This article cites three (only three) previous theories about causation, all of which particularly cite mothers. This article purports to take a contrasting view, but, in the end, also blames parents. The authors, Mary C. Zanarini, ED.D., and R. Frankenburg, M.D., write, “We also believe that such pathology develops in response to serious, chronic maladaptive behaviors on the part of immature and emotionally incompetent, but not necessarily deliberately malevolent caregivers.” Okay, so the parents aren’t horrible on purpose, but they’re still horrible.

As I’ve said in my book and elsewhere on this blog, I resist the notion that BPD is caused by mothers. I should also say that I have no professional expertise and have done no original research. I’m a well-read layperson with a fair share of real-world experience with people suffering from the disorder.

Scholars who blame bad parenting (and nearly always target mothers rather than fathers) never explain the evidence that many sufferers, maybe as many as 60%, had normal childhoods, or, at least, non-abusive ones. In my book Missing, I recount the story of Dr. Robert O. Friedel, author of Borderline Personality Disorder Demystified: An Essential Guide for Understanding and Living with BPD, who writes movingly about his sister, Denise. Denise had emotional difficulties literally from birth; she cried more than her siblings and was difficult to soothe. In childhood, she would attack her sisters and brothers in violent rages and break their belongings.

Friedel himself absolves his mother of any responsibility. He writes,

“One of my most vivid memories of my mother was the way her face would light up whenever she saw one of the family. It made me feel good to my core to be caught in the radiance of her smile and the warmth of her embrace. I would watch her bestow the same love on every member of our family . . There was never any doubt: she loved us all deeply and unequivocally.”

Friedel’s mother was a warm presence who suffered with and for her daughter and did everything she could to help her.

In my life, the people I’ve known with the disorder had widely various sorts of parents. Maybe some were abusive. More often, though, I observe the mismatch problem that Dr. Marsha Linehan has proposed. She suggests that borderlines have some biological propensity toward heightened and labile emotions. If their parents tend toward emotional restraint, even within normal limits, this mismatch may trigger the disease. I find this explanation not only more generous to parents but also more congruent with what I see around me.

The blaming of parents harkens to obsolete views of schizophrenia and autism. Remember the bad old days when these conditions were the mother’s fault? As science has discovered more complex interactions between genetics and environment, the onus on parents has been lightened. I predict that will happen in relation to BPD as well.

One other knotty problem remains. I realize I’m on treacherous ground, but I’ll ask the question anyway. What evidence and testimony are substantiating the claims of abuse? I hate questioning anyone’s assertions about an abusive childhood. But any of us who have dealt with people with BPD know that their version of past events often differs from ours. A day after a conversation with my mom, she would confidently accuse me of having said outrageously offensive things: that I didn’t care about her, didn’t have to listen to anything she said, and felt I had a right to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

Even if I believed those things, I would have the sense not to say them to my mother. I never said them, but my mother would insist, almost hysterically, that I had. So, I wonder, who’s checking the stories of abuse? People suffering from BPD often claim to feel, as the Zanarini and Frankenburg article says, “the worst pain anyone has felt since the history of the world began.”  They feel, recently, that their boss or their spouse or their doctor has abused them in some way. They aren’t lying. They feel as though these things are true. But no objective observer would see them as true.

So, I’d assert that people with BPD need to be affirmed and validated in their bitter and horrific feelings, because denying them is both cruel and non-productive. But accepting and reporting their childhood accounts of abuse as scientific fact, without any confirming evidence, is irresponsible.

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My Gun Control Letter

Bushmaster .223-caliber rifle

I wrote this letter today and am sending it to my two Senators, Sherrod Brown and Rob Portman, as well as President Obama. Their addresses follow the letter below. If you’re so moved, write or email your own Senators and Representatives, and, please, if you agree with me, feel free to copy or crib from my letter. The sources are linked in the text. Click on them for more information. Comments are, as always, welcome; respectful and polite responses are preferred.

Dear —-:

On December 15, 2012, New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof wrote, “Children ages 5 to 14 in American are 13 times as likely to be murdered with guns as children in other industrialized countries.”  He described how safety-conscious America has become regarding bicycles, drivers training, seat belts, and car seats–legal measures we neglect to take in regard to guns.

In light of the shootings in Connecticut, I concur with Nicholas Kristof, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, and many others, that our nation needs to tighten gun restrictions. American citizens will retain the right to own guns, but sensible background checks and limits on multiple gun purchases and high-capacity magazines must be considered, as well as re-instatement of the Federal Assault Weapons Ban, which expired in 2004.

The Bushmaster rifle used at Sandy Hook Elementary School left dozens of casings on the classroom floors, and killed 26 people in a matter of minutes, inflicting multiple devastating wounds. It’s a modification of a rifle used by the military and by police. The same rifle was used in sniper attacks in Washington, D.C., in 2002. Why would ordinary citizens need such a gun?

Kristof’s column explained the progress made in Australia over the last two decades. After a horrendous mass shooting in 1996, the nation enacted laws banning certain rapid-fire guns, eventually reducing gun ownership by about one-fifth. Australians still own guns, but in the intervening years, Australia’s gun-related murders and suicides have dropped by 40 and 50 percent, respectively. Since changing the laws, Australia has had no mass shootings.

According to the Children’s Defense Fund, nearly 3000 American children die every year from guns in accidents, suicides, and homicides. That’s about 8 children and teens every day. Americans should be able to come together in respectful discussions about reasonable, fair restrictions that protect everyone, especially children. In a CNN poll, about 60 percent of Americans support bans on the sale of automatic weapons and high-capacity magazines.

We will never be able to stop all gun violence, but as President Obama said at Newtown, Connecticut’s Sunday prayer vigil, surely we can do better. Please take action as soon as possible.

 

 

Brown, Sherrod – (D – OH) Class I
713 HART SENATE OFFICE BUILDING WASHINGTON DC 20510
(202) 224-2315
Web Form: www.brown.senate.gov/contact/
Portman, Rob – (R – OH) Class III
338 RUSSELL SENATE OFFICE BUILDING WASHINGTON DC 20510
(202) 224-3353
Web Form: www.portman.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/contact?p=contact…

The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500

http://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/submit-questions-and-comments

 

 

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A Spike Lee Joint

Up to now, I’ve been shamefully neglecting the movies at the Cleveland Museum of Art, which are often very interesting and unusual. This week gives me an opportunity to remedy that oversight, because the Cinematheque offerings are underwhelming. Or maybe I should complain that they’re overwhelming.

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (Thursday and Saturday), a Finnish Christmas horror film, looks outrageous. Cult films or cult films in-the-making are usually not my cup of tea. I recommend the trailer, however. Compliance (Thursday and Friday) tells the story of a young Ohio woman who was strip-searched and gang-raped by her boss and fellow employees, while a cop watched and gave directions. As I scroll down the page of reviews at Rotten Tomatoes, I see lots of positive reviews, generally posted by men. I can pretty well predict I would not find this movie entertaining. If it’s trying to teach me that people are overly susceptible to authority, I already know that.

Finally, Little White Lies, on Friday and Saturday, features appealing actors–Marion Cotillard, Francois Cluzet, and Jean Dujardin–but looks predictable and not very interesting.

Red Hook Summer

That leaves us with Wednesday at 6:45 pm at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I’m not sure if you or I will like Spike Lee’s Red Hook Summer. About half of the critics and viewers posting at Rotten Tomatoes didn’t. “Aimless,” “static,” and “unpolished” are a few adjectives appearing in reviews there. On the other hand, half of them liked it. It looks to be a small, personal movie, and therefore of possible interest.

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My Lolita Rant

Vladimir Nabokov

This week’s Cleveland Institute of Art Cinematheque offerings give me the opportunity to rant about Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita, and, while I’m at it, movies made from books in general.

Here’s the thing. Lolita is, in my opinion, a great novel by a great writer, which is, in part, about pedophilia. In the book, Lolita is not a nymphet, she’s not a sexy fourteen-year-old, and she’s not a temptress. The popular understanding of the book, derived largely from Kubrick’s misbegotten movie, incorrectly portrays Lolita as a sexy seductress. She is, instead, a twelve-year-old child.

Lolita’s first-person narrator Humbert Humbert, a delusional pedophile, sometimes deliberately obscures the truth. That’s one of the things that makes the novel so masterful: you’re inside the head of a crazy, evil bastard. . . who’s sometimes also funny (you laugh against your will) and, by the end, even sympathetic.

But there’s no question in my mind that Lolita herself–a name imposed on her by the fawning, obsessed nutcase Humbert–is a victim. She’s kidnapped and forced to have sex with an old lecher, a la Jaycee Dugard.

Kubrick’s film, deliberately obscuring the whole idea, helped foster the wrong-headed and sickening view of a “Lolita” as a pubescent siren luring vulnerable males. Don’t be fooled by Nabokov’s credit as screenwriter. Kubrick rejected almost all of Nabokov’s contributions.

As to adapting books into movies, I agree with the conventional wisdom that books are better than the movies based on them, with some exceptions. As films, To Kill a Mockingbird is just about as good as the novel, Gone with the Wind is certainly creditable, and, to me, Sophie’s Choice improves on William Styron’s original. Similarly, a lot of classic books, such as Jane Austen’s, have turned into enjoyable and pretty respectable movies.

As a devoted reader, however, I often object to screen adaptations, wondering why arrogant screenwriters and directors tamper with great works. The recent film version of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, for example, drove me nuts. Heathcliff is supposed to be uncouth, sure, but does he have to say the “f–” word all the time? Do we have to see Hindley and Frances having crude, grunting sex outside in the mud?

Throughout the movie, I was wishing I was curled up at home rereading the book. Here’s what I say to filmmakers: Write your own damn stories.

This weekend I’m planning to see Samsara–no plot, no characters, pure cinema (Friday at 9:40 or Saturday at 7:25).

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Recommending John Ford, as Opposed to Sex with a Tentacled Monster

Wayne and Stewart

The sure thing at the Cinematheque this weekend is probably, once again, the classic film: 1962’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance by legendary director John Ford, starring John Wayne, James Stewart and Lee Marvin. It treats serious themes about law and morality and truth and mythology. It’s the last project that Wayne and Ford did together. If you’ve never seen a John Ford Western, you should definitely come on Friday at 7:00 pm to hear an introduction by Grafton Nunes (Cleveland Institute of Art President), or come on Saturday at 5:00. See reviews here.

Teddy Bear, a new Danish film, has had a positive critical response. It promises to be a sweet story about a bodybuilder (played by Kim Kold, a real bodybuilder) looking for love (Friday at 9:40; Saturday 7:25). Twenty Days without War, a much darker film (Thursday, 6:45; Sunday, 8:55), follows a Soviet Army veteran on leave in his hometown in 1942 and highlights the effects of war at home. It was banned in the Soviet Union for a decade. Both of these sound good, don’t they?

From the poster advertising “Possession”

The Cinematheque’s description of our other choice, Possession, includes the words bloody, traumatic, self-mutilation, killings, hysterical, head-banging, derangement,  and, last but not least, sex with a tentacled monster. Forewarned is forearmed. Thursday at 8:45 and Saturday at 9:20.

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Better Than Science

In my Latin class today, I shared a reading about Proserpina and Ceres (Persephone and Demeter, in Greek). I find it necessary to debunk all that the scientific mumbo-jumbo about the seasons, relating to planets and stars and orbits. Forget, I tell my students, what you may have heard about the tilt of the earth on its axis. The seasons change because of a mother’s cyclical happiness and sadness. It’s getting cold and grey outside because Ceres is not doing her job.

Ceres in Search of Her Daughter, Johann Blaschke, 1786

As you probably remember, Pluto, the god of the underworld, took a liking to a mortal girl and snatched her into his realm. Proserpina’s poor mother, whose charge was keeping earthly things green and growing, was distracted from her work, mad with worry over her lost daughter. People began to starve for lack of grain and complained bitterly about the gods’ injustices.

Jupiter at last brokered a deal: Ceres could have her daughter back for half the year. Because she’d eaten of the underworld’s fruit, pomegranate seeds, Proserpina must return to Hades (with Hades, in the Greek) for the season we are just entering. The leafless trees and graying lawns outside my window betoken poor Ceres’s grief. She can’t be bothered right now with taking care of plants.

The earth revolving around the sun, leaning toward or away from that majestic body, is, I admit, a pretty magnificent story. But I relate more personally to the classical explanation. My daughter comes home for the Thanksgiving holiday. I look forward and clean and cook. Then, all too soon, she leaves on a jet plane, and I let the dishes and the dust bunnies pile up, sullenly occupying myself with games on my phone and YouTube videos.

I can’t be bothered with completing my appointed tasks right now. I’ll perk up during that December “spring,” beginning in a couple of weeks, when my own Prosperina is returning home.

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Richard Russo’s Difficult Mom

Jean and Richard Russo

How could Richard Russo’s memoir Elsewhere not intrigue me? I’m already a fan. His novels Nobody’s Fool and Empire Falls, for example, tell heartfelt and funny stories about flawed, even infuriating, but ultimately sympathetic characters. Russo has mastered an assured, sincere tone that doesn’t get sentimental.

A glance at reviews of the new book told me that it’s about his mother. His mother who had a mental illness. My kind of book, in other words. Tricia Springstubb, who reviewed it in the Plain Dealer, lent me her copy, and I just finished it.

Russo’s mom was infuriating. Her emotions were volatile, and her preferences wildly changeable. She was impossible to please. She passionately loved places and people, and then hated them just as passionately. She said things, and then swore she never said them. Richard tried to please her, and though she always relied on him, her “Rock,” he always failed. She never stayed pleased.

At the end of the book, he diagnoses his mom with obsessive compulsive disorder, but I (prone, admittedly, to find borderline personality disorder wherever I look) think there was more to the picture. Her sense of emptiness, her black-and-white thinking, her fear of abandonment and emotional volatility betoken the BPD symptoms with which I am quite familiar.

Also familiar to me is Russo’s desperate, co-dependent desire to make his mother happy. He did what she wanted. He reasoned with her. Nothing worked. In the end, after her death, learning about OCD arrived as a revelation to him. That epiphany is also familiar to me.

Because she had a mental illness, his mom didn’t change and, at least without treatment, couldn’t change. That understanding doesn’t come in a moment, but its gradual dawning certainly helps. You were the kid, and, however much you wanted to, you couldn’t fix what was wrong.

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A Film Trio

The Imposter

If you haven’t seen The Imposter  yet, I suggest you catch it at the Cinematheque this weekend (Saturday at 9:45; Sunday at 6:30). This crazy documentary tells the story of a lost child who reappears in his Texas family’s life after three years–with different colored eyes and a French accent. The family takes him in, and most of the authorities accept the young man’s story of kidnapping and torture. Then, I guess you could say the story becomes complicated!

People often used to find documentaries boring, and maybe some still do. Contemporary docs, though, often pick up and pursue these stranger-than-fiction stories and present them in concise, exciting style. The Imposter fits this bill.  

Dalton Trumbo

I want to see Lonely Are the Brave (1962) this weekend,  because Of Kirk Douglas’s performance and Dalton Trumbo’s script, based on a novel by Edward Abbey. Trumbo, who also wrote Spartacus, was blacklisted after refusing to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1947. He wrote several movies sub rosa, including Roman Holiday. Around 1960, he was finally able to write books and movies under his own name. He’s also known for the novel Johnny Got His Gun. This film may be a touch arty and ponderous, but I’m curious about it. See it Saturday at 5:15 pm or Sunday at 8:30 pm.

Fianlly, the actor Geoffrey Rush (remember Shine?) is always worth seeing, and in The Eye of the Storm, an Australian movie based on a Patrick White novel, he’s starring with the estimable Charlotte Rampling and Judy Davis. This family drama looks funny, in an acerbic way. It shows Saturday at 7:25 pm and Sunday at 3:45 pm.

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You Always Hurt the One You Love

I’ve struck up an email correspondence with a reader named Mary, whose elderly mother has borderline personality disorder, and a psychiatrist named David Allen. In recent correspondence, Dr. Allen suggests that people with BPD show their love for family members in a distorted way. Their criticism and evident disdain are really demonstrations of love, albeit unrecognizable to those on the receiving end.

A few years ago, he wrote this on his blog: “When parents act in an obnoxious manner . . . that pushes their adult children away, this is referred to as distancing behavior. Parents who know they were abusive, even if they do not admit it, may secretly believe that their children are better off without them. Hence, they engage in distancing to push their children away, thereby protecting their children from themselves.”

Such parents feel they are so deeply flawed they have to shield their children from these flaws. I told him I found this interpretation of BPD behavior counter-intutitive, and he understood. Most family members do. It sure doesn’t feel like love to be called names, and to be undermined, criticized, and judged. Dr. Allen suggested continuing to consider the possibility.

I broached this confounding topic to my friend Nancy, who has had, in the past, a BPD diagnosis (among others). She appears in my book Missing as a kind of guide. (Let’s say she’s Vergil to my Dante. Comparing BPD to The Inferno is not too far off the mark.)

She immediately identified with Dr. Allen’s thesis, but phrased it a little differently. She focused on perfectionism and reminded me of the black-and-white thinking characteristic of BPD. Nancy generally feels, she told me, that if someone else has a problem, she is unable to fix it. Helping, offering some comfort, doing a little bit–these gestures just don’t come to mind when one is hemmed in by perfectionism.

She can’t make it all right. Therefore, she may as well do nothing, or may even say something dismissive in order to ensure that the other person doesn’t rely on her, because relying on her would be a mistake! Why rely on her when she can’t solve the problem?

I’m contemplating these ideas, trying them on, attempting to see my mother’s hurtful behavior as perverse manifestations of love. Let me know if any of this rings a bell with you.

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Ozu Once Again

My Cinematheque choice this week is An Inn at Tokyo (Friday, November 16, 7:30 pm). Okay, this event might be off-putting at first glance. It’s silent. It’s Japanese. It’s in black and white. But it’s made by the great Yasujiro Ozu, who directed Late Spring and Tokyo Story, among others, and it features a benshi. Chances are pretty good we’ll never get another chance to see, or hear, one of these.

A benshi is a silent film narrator. In Japan, silent films extended longer into the ‘30’s than here in the U.S., not because the Japanese lacked sound technology, but because the benshi were so popular. They would tell the story as it unfolded, and their skill made them popular in their own right. People would flock to see benshi stars. At this screening, Ichiro Kataoka will do the honors. He’s an actor traveling in this country demonstrating this almost-lost art. He narrates in Japanese, but the film retains the English titles and also a music score.

If this sounds intimidating, consider that the benshi were highly popular among ordinary people, not the cultural elite. Consider also that this film is only 80 minutes long. Most important, it’s a unique opportunity.

Note, by the way, a new feature. You can subscribe to my blog, receiving email notifications when I post. See the home page by clicking on “Missing” on the menu.

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