I Hate You--Don't Leave Me - Jerold J. Kreisman [97]
In order to initiate change, the borderline must break out of an impossible catch-22 position: To accept himself and others, he must learn to trust, but to trust others really means starting to trust himself, that is, his own perceptions of others. He must also learn to accept their consistency and dependability—quite a task for someone who, like a small child, believes others “disappear” when they leave the room. “When I can’t see you,” Elizabeth told her psychiatrist early in her treatment, “it’s like you don’t exist.”
Like someone with an injured leg, the borderline must learn to limp. If he remains bedridden, his leg muscles will atrophy and contract; if he tries to exercise too vigorously, he will reinjure the leg even more severely. Instead, he must learn to limp on it, putting just enough weight on the leg to build strength gradually, but not so much as to strain it and prevent healing (tolerating leg pain that is slight, but not overwhelming). Likewise, healing in the borderline requires placing just enough pressure by challenging himself to move forward. As Elizabeth’s therapy progressed, cognitive interventions gave way to a more psychodynamic approach, with more attention focused on connections between her past experiences and current functioning. During this transition, the therapist’s interventions diminished and Elizabeth became responsible for more of the therapy.
Leaving the Past Behind
The borderline’s view of the world, like that of most people, is shaped by his childhood experiences in which the family served as a microcosm of the universe. Unlike healthier individuals, however, the borderline cannot easily separate himself from other family members, nor can he separate his family from the rest of the world.
Unable to see his world through adult eyes, the borderline continues to experience life as a child—with a child’s intense emotions and perspective. When a young child is punished or reprimanded, he sees himself as unquestionably bad; he cannot conceive of the possibility that mother might be having a bad day. As the healthy child matures, he sees his expanding world as more complex and less dogmatic. But the borderline remains stuck—a child in an adult’s body.
“There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets in the future,” wrote Graham Greene in The Power and the Glory. In most borderlines’ childhoods, the responsibilities of adulthood arrive too early; the door opens ever more widely, but he cannot face the light. Or perhaps it is the unrelenting opening that makes facing it so difficult.
Change for the borderline comes when he learns to see current experiences—and review past memories—through adult “lenses.” The new “vision” is akin to watching an old horror film on TV that you haven’t seen in years: the movie, once so frightening on the big screen, seems tame—even silly—on a small screen with the lights on; you can’t fathom why you were so scared when you saw it the first time.
When Elizabeth was well into her journey in psychotherapy, she began to look at her early childhood feelings in a different light. She began to accept them, to recognize the value of her own experience; if not for those early feelings and experiences, she realized, she would not have been able to bring the same fervor and motivation she was bringing to her new career in law. “Feelings born in my childhood,” she said, “still continue to haunt me. But I’m even seeing that in a different light. The very ways I have hated I now accept as part of me.”
Playing the Dealt Hand
The borderline’s greatest obstacle to change is his tendency to evaluate in absolute extremes. The borderline must either be totally