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I recently turned 25....early last year some traumatic events in my family home caused me to finally make the leap to adulthood and get out of my toxic home. Its odd that after 24 years of living in a house with a bipolar mother I didn't even understand what "bipolar" really was until last year. Growing up, my dad would call my mom crazy or nuts.....but I was never told, "you're mom has a disease, she is bipolar." All I knew was that my mom loved me more than anything. She supported me and was my biggest fan. She was fun to be around and was so proud of me. There was also another part of my mom. The part that scared me. The part that came and went with no warning. One day our house would be normal and the next day everything would be all wrong. Mom could be heard crawling around in the attic searching for the "spy equipment" that she knew was up there. Or she would be happy....soo happy, tooo happy...she would be writing what she called "the next great american novel." Then there were the time where she would leave. The first time I remember I was 5. I woke up to hear alot of voices in our living room. I was confused. I walked into the living room and my dad was there with my aunt (mom's sister). They were talking and they sounded mad and worried. My aunt said I had to know. She told me that my mom had left. That we didn't know when she would be back. I didn't know what to think. My mom had put me to bed that night. How was she just gone? As I got older I learned to grow tough. I learned to not be scared anymore when mom would disappear. I learned to pretend everything was normal. Pretty soon everything was normal. Although I had a distorted version of reality, it was my normal reality. I remember my parents fighting at night alot. I remember my mom throwing plates at the wall and the sound of them shattering. I remember her banging on my brother's door every night for a week. The next night he didn't respond. He was sleeping in his car...he needed to sleep. I felt so bad for him...I went out and yelled at my mom to leave him alone but she wasn't there...she screamed and that bad part of her lashed out at me. As I got older mom would disappear randomly.....she would simply walk away from our house not to be seen for weeks. Sometimes she called a taxi. Sometimes she drove. That was scary because we knew she drank when she was manic and bad things happen when you mix alcohol and driving...a manic one at that. My dad went crazy when she was gone. He was so worried. He didn't know how to comfort my brother and I because he didn't know how to comfort himself. Every night without fail dad would wake my brother and I up and take us out to his truck. We spent nights driving around town looking for signs of my mom. He would drive everywhere, stopping at bars, everywhere. He would stop and buy my brother and I hot chocolate and cookies from the gas station. This became a normal thing in our family. Mom always came home. Sometimes a few days later...sometimes weeks. Sometimes she would call and ask to be picked up. Sometimes strange people would drop her off at our house. I knew it was bad but sometimes I wished she wouldn't come home. I was tired of the game, even as a kid. When she came home she was usually drunk. She would go to her room and my parents would yell for a long time. Then things would be quiet. For days. My brother and I tiptoed around the house and tried not to bug her. I was scared to see her. Once I put a note under her door telling her I was sorry for whatever I thought I had did to cause this. I learned to not feel. I shut off my feelings. It was self-protective for sure. Last year I started having panic attacks everyday.....all those feelings are still there. I'm not sure how to feel them...they come up sometimes and I'll cry...but I have a long way to go. I'm lucky to have an awesome therapist I see weekly.  I really just want to cry sometimes....for my poor little girl self who had a mom that couldn't always be there. Its a legitimate disease. I love my mom soooooo much. Yet, I haven't grieved for my own pain. Sometimes I'll think about my little brother and cry for him...but I can't cry for me yet. Here's hoping I'll cry for myself soon... Post edited by: AngelaNicoleHarris, at: 02/10/2008 02:31 |
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