Ms Alice’s post prompted this post:
My family: ahhhh, where to begin. I found out recently that my father follows my blog (hi dad!) and instead of being uncomfortable, I found I was quite flattered. I know that I have written some things that can be considered very hurtful. But what I write is my opinion, my view, which I am well aware is quite skewed. Yet, there are some things I am sure of, and sadly it can be proven by the previously mentioned e-mail my mother sent me. It was irrational, unexpected and incredibly upsetting. The part that got me the most was:
UNFORTUNATELY-LIKE ME..WE OUR VERY DRAMATIC,PASSIONATE-HUMAN BEINGS, BUT IF THE MEDS HELP YOU SO BE IT...IF YOU ARE FEELING MORE DEPRESSED, THEY ARE NOT HELPING........I BELIEVE YOU NEED TO DO VERBAL THERAPY.
The hysterical thing is I AM like her. I am bipolar. But she refuses to acknowledge it. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s never entered her mind. As for verbal therapy… I am doing that. She has been TOLD that. She has been taken antidepressants for YEARS and as we all know, that medication fucks up our disorder to the point where erratic behavior becomes the norm.
It definitely did with her. I have a crisp memory of going Christmas shopping with her in a Walgreens. She bought me dish soap for Christmas. Yes, dish soap. She has no recollection of this so when I told her that she did this she immediately denied it and said I was crazy.
Uh HUH.
I think I’ve finally figured out why I have some of my panic attacks. One was triggered when I was reading an Unquiet Mind. Kay (the author) was talking about how her mother helped nurse her back from her depressions and took care of her. I can’t express how much it hurts me to know that my mother can so casually dismiss that I am mentally ill. That it is “normal because we’re just dramatic”. How was I supposed to even realize something was wrong? I haven’t responded to the e-mail yet. I am still too angry to form logical responses and I refuse to speak from anger. I know I have accept that this is my mother. I know that I have to let go of the idea of what she used to be like or what I created. I am not saying she is a bad person, far from it. She’s just incredibly confused. But it hurts to know that she is living in her own reality and refuses to accept that she is wrong at times. But this is because she is mentally ill. But the most frustrating kind - the kind that refuses to accept it and blames other people for her erratic behavior.
Here’s another fun excerpt:
ANYWAY...IF YOU LOOK, NO EXAMINE YOUR CHILDHOOD DEEPLY..JENNIFER ALWAYS--USED YOU...FOR HER SCAPE COAT....YOU LOOKED UP TO HER FOR EVERYTHING...YOU DID EVERYTHING SHE ASKED YOU...UNFORTUNATELY-SHE LIED TO YOU..AND I BELIEVE SHE IS STILL LYING TO YOU..I KNOW SHE KEEPS CONTACT WITH YOU ...AND ONLY THE LORD KNOWS WHAT SHE IS TELLING YOU.
FYI - my sister was 15 FUCKING YEARS OLD when she “used me as a scapegoat”… well duh, that’s what older siblings DO. I am far from scarred from it.
Here’s the one that caused me to go for the cross and break the shit out of it:
BUT YOU ARE 25YRS OLD NOW, A GROWN WOMEN.......ITS TIME FOR YOU TO THINK FOR YOURSELF ...EVERY HUMAN BEING ON THIS EARTH HAS FAULTS, SIN...BUT DADDY AND I ARE OLDER ...AND OUR TIME HERE IS LIMITED. WE KNOW THE MISTAKES WE HAVE DONE TO BOTH YOU AND JEN...BUT WE CAN'T GO BACK IN TIME ...ITS DONE...WE CAN'T ERASE THE PAST...WE JUST ASK FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS...THERE IS NOTHING MORE WE CAN DO MY LOVE. EXCEPT ASK THE LORD ALSO FOR OUR FORGIVENESS . HE IS THE FATHER OF US ALL...........AND WE ARE NOT GOD.....WE ARE NOT PERFECT.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOA THERE. “Time to think for myself”. Oooofuckingk. I am in one of the most expensive cities in the US and I live comfortably, I have a job that most people go to school for, I live on my own and have NEVER asked my parents for money, I am putting myself through school while working full time, I have created an entire LIFE on my own.
So apparently I’m not thinking for myself, aye?
I admit that I do have trouble trusting myself so sometimes I take other’s opinions before mine. But I believe I can say that a majority of the time (at least recently) I do think for myself.
Also, the thing that gets me is SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE DID TO ME AND JEN (my sister). She thinks that asking for forgiveness will make everything better. How can you ask for forgiveness if you don’t even know what the fuck you did? My mother is an addict and she refuses to acknowledge that. She doesn’t understand that you are an addict for life; you will just continue to move on to one addiction to another. There can be positive addictions, they’re not all bad, but it is still an addiction. I know that this is her way of apologizing for how she acted under the influence of a slew of drugs and alcohol but because she refused to acknowledge that she is indeed an addict, it’s hard for me to really believe she can grasp what she did.
As for the god thing: No, he’s not my father. No he can not forgive me as he doesn’t exist. At least not in the terms that any organized religion deem “him”. My therapist agreed with me when I said that most mentally ill people turns towards god. We want so desperately to believe in SOMETHING besides ourselves because sometimes we can’t trust our own judgment. The idea of a perfect being, in my mind, would love EVERYONE. Wouldn’t that be a part of being perfect? No prejudice, no rules to follow except to try and incorporate love into everything you do? Wouldn’t a perfect being just KNOW that you are a good person if he is all seeing and not demand acts of “faith”?
The only reason I still carry baggage from my past is because I never dealt with it at the time. I still have my parents’ voices echoing venom in my head. I still have the labels that were placed upon me in childhood to rip off. A lot of incredibly vile words were thrown at me, along with some heavy objects and hands. I was made the scapegoat for many things I didn't even understand and everything I ever did never felt like enough to win the attention of my parents so I started down the path of drugs and alcohol very early but stopped once I realized that I would be just like my mother. So to this day I am terrified of pills and worry whenever I feel like I need a drink. I was raised by a mentally ill person so I didn't really learn a lot of the basics that most kids did. Like being left alone when I was 8 years old was normal. That eating ice cream for breakfast because I was unsupervised was ok. That hiding in my closet while rocking back and forth and mumbling to myself that I wasn't crazy wasn't ok. That confiding my fears to a dog was normal because there was no one else that would listen. While my mother insists that my family was physically close, I honestly don't remember being hugged that often and to this day have an issue with being touched. I also get incredibly uncomfortable around public displays of affection.
I reiterate that my childhood wasn't horrific BUT I am still have many wounds that stemmed from it. And I understand that, like Ms Alice said, there is no book on parenting so it's not like they could know any different than what they were taught. The only thing that I harbor a HUGE amount of bitterness for is the fact that they laughed in my face when I told them I thought I was depressed. Asking for help has ALWAYS been incredibly hard for me. I was taught to not show emotion, to try everything on my own first, even if I didn’t have an understanding of what was going on. Maybe I just hid it too well. But if my mood swings were so drastic, even when I was 18, wouldn’t that be a red flag? Part of me still feels like I’m 14. I still process emotion the same way.
I apologize because I know this is a huge blog, but the whole point of having a blog is to get what I need off my chest. If you’ve made it this far, I thank you. This is one of the only outlets I have, and I want it to be personal, because I truly want you to know what it’s like in my head. I don’t care if people find it trivial or to open. Fuck it. I’m open because I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of what I have. I am no longer ashamed to be me, Heather - a nerdy girl that loves to write, is about to embark on a musical adventure (I’m getting a kaossilator and am FINALLY going to start making music.. and sing... *gulp*) and loves to drown herself in mythology and semi fantasy books (my favorite authors are Charles de Lint and Christopher Moore). I do admit there is one area that am very, very closed about. The whole being able to accept love in the romantic sense; but that’s something I’m working on. I have been through many a boy that I just wasn’t enough for and used as a fuck toy so at this point I am too terrified of rejection to open up my gate (think of it as Mordor if you will… yeah, it’s THAT tough to get in lol). If they were only in it for sex how could I ever let them see me at my worst? Though I do accept resposibily; I let myself be used because I thought that was the only want to be close to someone. Even though I am blunt and honest in this blog, I get to hide in a way. Allowing someone to watch me break down in front of them is completely different.
ANNNNNNNNNNNNNWAYYYYYYY. I leave you with this quote and a promise of less “heavy” blogs in the future… hopefully… lol.
The only good is knowledge and the only evil is ignorance. - Socrates
1 comment:
alice said...
Jeez, Louise. It's like we are twins living in a parallel universe. It's actually really fascinating for me to read what you write because it's so flipping similar to my own experiences, and it makes me wonder if this shit is what causes bipolar disorder. My life up until I was like 9 or ten was pretty awesome I guess. I had a vast imagination that kept me entertained. Then reality sunk in when my dad started in with the regular heavy drinking. My world was just torn apart. You speak of venomous words, my dad actually accused me of being the evil seed of every bad thing that ever went down in my family. Scapegoat? yes. Black sheep? yes. Can someone please quit forocing me to be a farm animal??!
I'm so glad we have connected. You are an awesome person, and good for you for saying it like it is in your head. I don't think these kind of posts are heavy, and you shouldn't avoid them if they need to come out. I think there is a ton of healing to be had from getting it out. As a person who also loves to write, maybe this is better therapy than talking it out, which I have found no value in doing so far. In fact, I am so tired of hearing my old stories and woes it's not funny. I want to get to a place where I'm writing my own stories, participating more in the here and now than the way back when. We can do this. We are awesome. SO there.
My family: ahhhh, where to begin. I found out recently that my father follows my blog (hi dad!) and instead of being uncomfortable, I found I was quite flattered. I know that I have written some things that can be considered very hurtful. But what I write is my opinion, my view, which I am well aware is quite skewed. Yet, there are some things I am sure of, and sadly it can be proven by the previously mentioned e-mail my mother sent me. It was irrational, unexpected and incredibly upsetting. The part that got me the most was:
UNFORTUNATELY-LIKE ME..WE OUR VERY DRAMATIC,PASSIONATE-HUMAN BEINGS, BUT IF THE MEDS HELP YOU SO BE IT...IF YOU ARE FEELING MORE DEPRESSED, THEY ARE NOT HELPING........I BELIEVE YOU NEED TO DO VERBAL THERAPY.
The hysterical thing is I AM like her. I am bipolar. But she refuses to acknowledge it. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s never entered her mind. As for verbal therapy… I am doing that. She has been TOLD that. She has been taken antidepressants for YEARS and as we all know, that medication fucks up our disorder to the point where erratic behavior becomes the norm.
It definitely did with her. I have a crisp memory of going Christmas shopping with her in a Walgreens. She bought me dish soap for Christmas. Yes, dish soap. She has no recollection of this so when I told her that she did this she immediately denied it and said I was crazy.
Uh HUH.
I think I’ve finally figured out why I have some of my panic attacks. One was triggered when I was reading an Unquiet Mind. Kay (the author) was talking about how her mother helped nurse her back from her depressions and took care of her. I can’t express how much it hurts me to know that my mother can so casually dismiss that I am mentally ill. That it is “normal because we’re just dramatic”. How was I supposed to even realize something was wrong? I haven’t responded to the e-mail yet. I am still too angry to form logical responses and I refuse to speak from anger. I know I have accept that this is my mother. I know that I have to let go of the idea of what she used to be like or what I created. I am not saying she is a bad person, far from it. She’s just incredibly confused. But it hurts to know that she is living in her own reality and refuses to accept that she is wrong at times. But this is because she is mentally ill. But the most frustrating kind - the kind that refuses to accept it and blames other people for her erratic behavior.
Here’s another fun excerpt:
ANYWAY...IF YOU LOOK, NO EXAMINE YOUR CHILDHOOD DEEPLY..JENNIFER ALWAYS--USED YOU...FOR HER SCAPE COAT....YOU LOOKED UP TO HER FOR EVERYTHING...YOU DID EVERYTHING SHE ASKED YOU...UNFORTUNATELY-SHE LIED TO YOU..AND I BELIEVE SHE IS STILL LYING TO YOU..I KNOW SHE KEEPS CONTACT WITH YOU ...AND ONLY THE LORD KNOWS WHAT SHE IS TELLING YOU.
FYI - my sister was 15 FUCKING YEARS OLD when she “used me as a scapegoat”… well duh, that’s what older siblings DO. I am far from scarred from it.
Here’s the one that caused me to go for the cross and break the shit out of it:
BUT YOU ARE 25YRS OLD NOW, A GROWN WOMEN.......ITS TIME FOR YOU TO THINK FOR YOURSELF ...EVERY HUMAN BEING ON THIS EARTH HAS FAULTS, SIN...BUT DADDY AND I ARE OLDER ...AND OUR TIME HERE IS LIMITED. WE KNOW THE MISTAKES WE HAVE DONE TO BOTH YOU AND JEN...BUT WE CAN'T GO BACK IN TIME ...ITS DONE...WE CAN'T ERASE THE PAST...WE JUST ASK FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS...THERE IS NOTHING MORE WE CAN DO MY LOVE. EXCEPT ASK THE LORD ALSO FOR OUR FORGIVENESS . HE IS THE FATHER OF US ALL...........AND WE ARE NOT GOD.....WE ARE NOT PERFECT.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOA THERE. “Time to think for myself”. Oooofuckingk. I am in one of the most expensive cities in the US and I live comfortably, I have a job that most people go to school for, I live on my own and have NEVER asked my parents for money, I am putting myself through school while working full time, I have created an entire LIFE on my own.
So apparently I’m not thinking for myself, aye?
I admit that I do have trouble trusting myself so sometimes I take other’s opinions before mine. But I believe I can say that a majority of the time (at least recently) I do think for myself.
Also, the thing that gets me is SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE DID TO ME AND JEN (my sister). She thinks that asking for forgiveness will make everything better. How can you ask for forgiveness if you don’t even know what the fuck you did? My mother is an addict and she refuses to acknowledge that. She doesn’t understand that you are an addict for life; you will just continue to move on to one addiction to another. There can be positive addictions, they’re not all bad, but it is still an addiction. I know that this is her way of apologizing for how she acted under the influence of a slew of drugs and alcohol but because she refused to acknowledge that she is indeed an addict, it’s hard for me to really believe she can grasp what she did.
As for the god thing: No, he’s not my father. No he can not forgive me as he doesn’t exist. At least not in the terms that any organized religion deem “him”. My therapist agreed with me when I said that most mentally ill people turns towards god. We want so desperately to believe in SOMETHING besides ourselves because sometimes we can’t trust our own judgment. The idea of a perfect being, in my mind, would love EVERYONE. Wouldn’t that be a part of being perfect? No prejudice, no rules to follow except to try and incorporate love into everything you do? Wouldn’t a perfect being just KNOW that you are a good person if he is all seeing and not demand acts of “faith”?
The only reason I still carry baggage from my past is because I never dealt with it at the time. I still have my parents’ voices echoing venom in my head. I still have the labels that were placed upon me in childhood to rip off. A lot of incredibly vile words were thrown at me, along with some heavy objects and hands. I was made the scapegoat for many things I didn't even understand and everything I ever did never felt like enough to win the attention of my parents so I started down the path of drugs and alcohol very early but stopped once I realized that I would be just like my mother. So to this day I am terrified of pills and worry whenever I feel like I need a drink. I was raised by a mentally ill person so I didn't really learn a lot of the basics that most kids did. Like being left alone when I was 8 years old was normal. That eating ice cream for breakfast because I was unsupervised was ok. That hiding in my closet while rocking back and forth and mumbling to myself that I wasn't crazy wasn't ok. That confiding my fears to a dog was normal because there was no one else that would listen. While my mother insists that my family was physically close, I honestly don't remember being hugged that often and to this day have an issue with being touched. I also get incredibly uncomfortable around public displays of affection.
I reiterate that my childhood wasn't horrific BUT I am still have many wounds that stemmed from it. And I understand that, like Ms Alice said, there is no book on parenting so it's not like they could know any different than what they were taught. The only thing that I harbor a HUGE amount of bitterness for is the fact that they laughed in my face when I told them I thought I was depressed. Asking for help has ALWAYS been incredibly hard for me. I was taught to not show emotion, to try everything on my own first, even if I didn’t have an understanding of what was going on. Maybe I just hid it too well. But if my mood swings were so drastic, even when I was 18, wouldn’t that be a red flag? Part of me still feels like I’m 14. I still process emotion the same way.
I apologize because I know this is a huge blog, but the whole point of having a blog is to get what I need off my chest. If you’ve made it this far, I thank you. This is one of the only outlets I have, and I want it to be personal, because I truly want you to know what it’s like in my head. I don’t care if people find it trivial or to open. Fuck it. I’m open because I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of what I have. I am no longer ashamed to be me, Heather - a nerdy girl that loves to write, is about to embark on a musical adventure (I’m getting a kaossilator and am FINALLY going to start making music.. and sing... *gulp*) and loves to drown herself in mythology and semi fantasy books (my favorite authors are Charles de Lint and Christopher Moore). I do admit there is one area that am very, very closed about. The whole being able to accept love in the romantic sense; but that’s something I’m working on. I have been through many a boy that I just wasn’t enough for and used as a fuck toy so at this point I am too terrified of rejection to open up my gate (think of it as Mordor if you will… yeah, it’s THAT tough to get in lol). If they were only in it for sex how could I ever let them see me at my worst? Though I do accept resposibily; I let myself be used because I thought that was the only want to be close to someone. Even though I am blunt and honest in this blog, I get to hide in a way. Allowing someone to watch me break down in front of them is completely different.
ANNNNNNNNNNNNNWAYYYYYYY. I leave you with this quote and a promise of less “heavy” blogs in the future… hopefully… lol.
The only good is knowledge and the only evil is ignorance. - Socrates
1 comment:
alice said...
Jeez, Louise. It's like we are twins living in a parallel universe. It's actually really fascinating for me to read what you write because it's so flipping similar to my own experiences, and it makes me wonder if this shit is what causes bipolar disorder. My life up until I was like 9 or ten was pretty awesome I guess. I had a vast imagination that kept me entertained. Then reality sunk in when my dad started in with the regular heavy drinking. My world was just torn apart. You speak of venomous words, my dad actually accused me of being the evil seed of every bad thing that ever went down in my family. Scapegoat? yes. Black sheep? yes. Can someone please quit forocing me to be a farm animal??!
I'm so glad we have connected. You are an awesome person, and good for you for saying it like it is in your head. I don't think these kind of posts are heavy, and you shouldn't avoid them if they need to come out. I think there is a ton of healing to be had from getting it out. As a person who also loves to write, maybe this is better therapy than talking it out, which I have found no value in doing so far. In fact, I am so tired of hearing my old stories and woes it's not funny. I want to get to a place where I'm writing my own stories, participating more in the here and now than the way back when. We can do this. We are awesome. SO there.
