November 18, 1014 everything changed for me. I got the psychological evaluation saying that I was not yet allowed to have my daughter back. I may be bipolar they said. The PTSD may be too bad. My ADHD. I don’t know. Maybe it was my ABC or DEFG. All these acronyms seem so painfully death defying. So infinitely etched in stone as the world defines the soul I once thought identified with who I am.
They make me fee like I am not even me anymore. Like I’m just that diagnosis. That medication. That situation.
November 19, 2014 I turned 35 years old. Just a week before my boyfriend had left me for good. I was being unbearable, mean, impossible, too up and down….not worthy of compassion. It felt like two deaths in one. I was so alone. So scared. I felt so worthless. Like I was that thing that no one thought was good enough to mother or be loved. That broken girl inside a woman who was too…something. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good because I was one to be avoided. So I curled up in bed and cried myself to sleep. I held my pillow tight, in the corner of my bed, and wondered if this was what my life was destined to be from now on. Just a string of people I loved but couldn’t be with.
My brother arrived to pick me up. We went to his house and a friend cooked us dinner. The kids ran around. My daughter was there. I starred at her in silence; a knot in my throat. God I wish I could wisk her away so I can raise her. I would never hurt her. I’ve never hit her. I adore her. Why can’t…I raise my baby girl? She’s seven years old and I am missing her whole childhood. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was planned. She was longed for. She is loved.
I returned home and didn’t leave again until November 27 – Thanksgiving Day. I watched her run around again at my brother’s house. She played with my beautiful nephew. A boy I adore with all my heart and wish I could raise as well. She is my sun. He is my moon. They’re amazing….but who can trust a bipolar woman around children?
My family treats these acronyms with fear. Sometimes I think they forget it’s me in here. I’m still their daughter. Still a sister. Still a niece. Still a granddaughter. Still a mom….
I don’t know if I am bipolar. The psychiatrist is testing medications on me. I feel like a zombie.
November has come and gone and December still finds me at home. I can’t get out of bed. Adderall and Paxil cocktails mixed with Motrin PM. I’m a zombie for weeks. I stay curled up in that corner of my giant king sized bed. I cry. I don’t bathe. I don’t work. I don’t do anything but cry…call my ex…text him…email him….where is he? I don’t feel like I am reaching out for a lover. I thought he was also my best friend. We haven’t officially been together since June of 2013…..but we’ve been inseparable. Am I so horrible? Does he not remember how I held on in spite of it all when he was sick? I suppose it’s not good to want to be loved in return. It’s selfish. Real love shouldn’t expect. It’s the beginning of all sin.
December 25, 2014, Christmas is upon us. I have to leave the house again. I can barely take the sunlight. I’ve become my own hostage. I can’t keep eating ice. I can’t keep researching endless MK Ultra Mind Control and Illuminati NWO YouTube videos. It’s become an obsession. The meds have me more confused than ever. I can’t stop watching porn. Why do I do it? I hate it. I disgust myself. I’m scared. These instincts in search of pleasure to calm me. He said I was too carnal. Said I used him like a piece of meat. I swear I didn’t mean to. I loved him. I just didn’t know how else to calm my overwhelming anxiety. I think I am going to die. I pray I die. Please….someone…end this madness.
Don’t ask me what I did about my longing to die. Somethings are better left between hospital walls and behind closed doors.
It’s the last week of 2014 and I’m still alive. My mother says she can’t bring me my daughter in the state I am in. She will have me hospitalized again if she has to. I’m afraid of what she’ll do. I reach out to my ex, repeatedly, knowing only he can hold me in his arms and put me back together….where is my friend? However, here’s a lesson best learned before the burn….you can’t make someone love you if they don’t. Bonny had it right. It’s impossible. I’m on my own and I’m so scared. I’m shaking. Why can’t I get off this ride?
It’s just me here…in this room…knowing they’re out there thinking I’m not enough. Something is wrong with me and it makes me unwanted by those I love. I feel like a monster. Why can’t my mind just clear up? What’s wrong with me? And why doesn’t my brother visit me? God I need him so much. I wish he wasn’t so busy. I wish we were kids again and we told each other secrets. I remember like it was yesterday, September 04, 1993, when he asked me, “Why do people cry?”
Look at me brother….I cry all day and can’t tell you why. Something in my brain is broken…….short circuiting. IQ of 138 and a resume gone to waste because I can’t get out of bed. I can’t raise my child. I can’t keep the man I love by my side. Up and down. Up and down. “No compassion for the mentally broken one. She doesn’t fit into our plans anymore. Remember when she was…..?”
I day dreamed so much that last week. Staring at the wall in silence, my mind floating away, curled up in a ball, thinking, “I have to get up. I have to find the strength. There I am. I’m walking. I’m working again. I’m smiling. I’m beautiful again. She’s dancing with me. He loves me. They’re proud of me. I’m something. I’m someone.” The hot tears taunting my day dreams and putting me back to sleep. No one wants an insecure sick girl who is 30 lbs over weight. He figured that out as soon as he got a tiny bit better. His mom dragged him back to her side and got rid of all the little girls who get in her way. I was in the way because I spoke out of turn. I fought for his right to be himself. I loved all his pieces – broken or together. Yet mine were too many to piece together for him.
Last two days of the year and I did the unthinkable. I can’t even write about it. It was horrible. It was grotesque. It was dangerous. It was wrong in every way. Self humiliating and a blur. I danced to the song of my worthlessness and I let those demons use me over and over again like the garbage that I accepted I was. “He was right about you,” they sang in my ear. “You’re nothing. This is what you’re worth.” So I became my exes prophecy.
December 31, 2014 , at 11:00pm I return from my mom’s house. I spend midnight on my own. It’s safer that way…but I had two visitors on the way.
January 01, 2015, 12:45am and they arrive to welcome the new year with me with drugs and alcohol and all debauchery known to Satan’s spawn. Yet I feel loved, wanted, cared for and appreciated under the influence of molly and her friends. I wait until 8:00am to tell them goodbye and stay awake until the afternoon to think about whether or not now is a good time to end my life. “No one will miss you for too long. You’ll be a memory, but a relief to not have to deal with again. Your load is too heavy anyway. You’d be doing them all a favor. Go on. Kill yourself. It will feel so good when you’re gone. You can always watch over them.”
“I will marry you when you lose the weight.”
“You can’t raise her like that.”
“You just have to sell the car.”
“You’re a lying whore. Whose condoms are those?”
“You hide things.”
“You’re embarrassing to me. I can’t hold your hand. Your weight makes me uncomfortable.”
“Are you gonna eat that…?”
“What do you want? Leave me alone!”
“You tried to kill yourself again…I’m busy. Can’t go see you now.”
“You have to take the medication!”
“Look at this mess!”
All those things…..that people say in frustration…echo in my mind. Every syllable like a brick on my back. So, I stay curled up in bed. Tormented by words and the arms length of those I make uncomfortable. I’ve been watching those white roses he brought me for days. They’re dying. It hurts to watch them die. Please….please…roses…don’t die….
Does this ever end? When do we get off the rollercoaster?
January 03, 2015 and the one good friend who has been helping me pay my bills text me this:
“Life is a rollercoaster. sometimes your heart is racing. And sometimes your throwing up. but you ride it to the end. You cant get off in the middle.”
That woke me up. He’s in love with me. Why? I wish I could love him, but I’m still in love with my ex. I can’t let anyone else in my heart. I know I should, but my heart won’t come to terms with reality. I doubt I’ll ever love this way again. He was my one true love. I was that girl he never expect to end up with for more than a year.
There was this one stranger. Not sure what it was about him. I’ve never met him in person, but he made me want to try again. It was an illusion though. He wasn’t into me. This is life.
January 04, 2015 and I text him again….these words filled with pain. Tears streaking down my face. I haven’t slept all night. It’s 7:00am now and I have to get up and take my little girl roller skating at the park. I HAVE TO. I MUST. It has to end. It has to. After all, the white roses are already dead.
I’m getting up now…it’s time.