Sunday, June 21, 2015

Let's Talk About It

A little over a year ago, I wrote a blog entry on my other blog about mental illness.

http://lifeandpeanutbutter.blogspot.com/2014/05/call-me-crazy-but-please-understand.html, if you're interested.

In the comment section, there's one that really bugs me. It's from my mother, who I mentioned in the post due to her tendencies. In it she says something along the lines of "Oh, thanks for telling me, I didn't know I'm bipolar." Right now she is sitting in her bathroom having an episode that can only be described as intensely manic. She acts out, she has uncontrollable rage, she cries over nothing quite a lot. The reason I don't want to have kids is because she did. I'm here. My three siblings are here. She's bipolar/manic depressive, and so are all four of us. If I have children who turn out like my two younger siblings, my rage may get the best of me. Birth control is my preemptive strike. On top of being bipolar, my brother is also a drug addict. Cocaine, crack, heroin, xanax bars, methamphetamines, marijuana, just about anything he can get to. He got my little sister to do heroin and smoke assorted substances with him multiple times. They've both been to jail for it, and neither of them will stop. As adults, that choice is theirs to make. As bipolar/manic depressive diagnosees, it's a choice they should not be making.

My mother refuses to medicate herself, and frequently has these episodes of rage, tears, and eventually vomiting until she passes out or her body just tires out, whichever comes first. "The meds make me tired." She takes a generic Xanax whenever she feels like she may get emotional over something. What that mean is it doesn't have the time to do its job and to help her. So she still has her episodes.

I've watched countless shows and movies, read countless books about the children of bipolar/manic mothers, and the common thing I've found between them all is that the children eventually learn that there is nothing they can do. If you say or do something, it can be a trigger. If you don't say or do something, it can be a trigger. Our actions or non-actions have no bearing on our mothers' reactions. I learned this early on. My two younger siblings still try to fight it. My older sister is 1500 miles away dealing with her own bipolar depression and doesn't speak to any of us anymore.  I can only hope that my sweet nephew inherits his father's tendencies, aside from the "being a cheating liar" part.

I have panic attacks maybe once a week, anxiety attacks very rarely happen to me, and my emotions have no range, only very defined ends. When I do "feel", I am either incredibly happy or in an uncontrollable rage. 90% of the time, however, I am completely stoic and non-verbal. I deactivated my Favebook last Thanksgiving, and it was more of a blessing than intended. I've been using snapchat quite a bit, and it's made me be more talkative and made me feel more than I ever have. I even posted a 400+ second story the other day! I love myself, and I have my manic attributes under control. This is something that I hope to one day be able to say about the rest of my family.

There wasn't much of a point to this, more just me putting it into words. If you read this far, thank you. It really means something to me.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

A Letter He Will Never Read

2 years ago, when I met you, I never imagined we would be here. I never imagined we would go through so much together. I never imagined that I would need you as much as I did. Most of all, though, I never imagined that I would fall in love with you.
“Different time, different place.” That’s what you always said to me…before, anyway. Before you fell in love with me.
You called me that Sunday morning and poured your heart out, telling me everything – your feelings, your thoughts, your plans for your…our future. I listened and though some part of me knew better, I believed it all. Every word. Every “I love you.” Everything.
I can’t remember when exactly I fell for you, and honestly, I don’t want to. I think if I knew when it happened, I would hate myself for ever getting to that moment. I gave everything to you. I shared my secrets with you, things I have never told anyone else, and will probably never share again. “Put all of your burdens on me. You shouldn’t have to carry these things with you. Let me do it.” When you said that to me, I trusted you enough to do it. I let everything fall onto you, and you carried it all…you’re still carrying it all. I love you even more for that.
I love you. And that’s where it ends. I can’t be with you. I can’t marry you like you’ve asked, and start a life in Alaska. I can’t.
You have so much to figure out in your own life, I can’t imagine trying to fit myself into it. We’ve given each other plenty of grief and just as much grace, but my sweet, this isn’t what being in love is supposed to feel like. You lie, you keep secrets, you hide things from me. I am open and overly honest with everyone, but I make an extra effort to be like that with you. Completely transparent, because I don’t want anything to come as a surprise to you and break you the way I have been broken by you. I tell you everything to protect you, though some of these things will hurt for a while.
Since the day I met you, people have said I have a light in my eyes when I speak of you. They aren’t wrong. I met you during the darkest time of my life, and suddenly, there you were, lighting up my world like no one ever had before or has since. I’ll never meet anyone like you again; I know that as a fact. You are my everything, and you always will be. The thing is that I want to be happy. I want someone to love me the way I love them. I know you love me as much as I love you, but you don’t show it like I do. You don’t make an effort. And I want you to be happy, but knowing you so well has led me to realize that you never will be, and that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what is going on inside you. Who you are. What you are.
I think you enjoy knowing that you can manipulate me, that there isn’t a goddamn thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. What you have taken from me far outweighs what I have given you. I wish I could look in you in the eye just once and have you see me. Not see me in the sense that I am there, but see me in the sense that you know we can never be. I want you to see what you have done to me. I want you to see me and believe me when I tell you I want you in my life. Though in an entirely different capacity than we are used to, I do want you around. Your hugs are my favourite, and always will be.  You, Cody Wayne…you will always be my favourite. I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll never stop hoping for the best for you. I’ll never love someone the way that I love you.
2 years ago, when I met you, I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to fall in love with you. I never meant to need you. I never meant to depend on you. I never meant to want a life with you by my side. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to let you hurt me.
But I meant everything I’ve ever said to you.