Intro to Memoirs

Mental Illness. The words stick to my tongue like rancid honey. The thought of a mentally ill person makes my blood run cold as little beads of sweat form all over my body. I do not want to be associated with some sick freak that has lost his grip on reality. This is how I used to feel. To me, mental illness meant someone in the corner with an aluminum foil hat and wicked body odor talking to an imaginary friend. What I didn't realize is that mental illness affects 1 in 4 people around the world. This means that in all likeliness you know at least one person, if not more, with mental illness. It is a disease no one talks about because of the stigma attached to it. So when my PTSD gave me nightmares every night, I didn't tell anyone. When I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder, I went to a trusted family physician under the guise of some other medical disorder. Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore and sought psychiatric treatment for my BiPolar disorder, I was humiliated and didn't even tell my family. I was so wrapped up in what everyone would think about me once I was diagnosed that I spent more time trying to hide my afflictions than I did trying to treat them. This ultimately led me down a dark path of self loathing and destruction. It wasn't until I lost everything that I decided to share my story. I want to reach others with similar issues, in the hopes that they can get the help they need before it's too late. My mental health issues started in high school, but I was too ashamed to get help until my twenties. With earlier treatment, I may have made fewer mistakes in my life or caused myself less pain.

Why Doesn't Mommy Love Me?

My mommy is the best mommy ever! She makes me cookies and lets me help stir the dough. She tells me stories that make me laugh. She plays video games with me on rainy days.

Sometimes I make mommy mad. One time I wouldn't stop crying and mommy yelled at me to shut up. Mommy said I was bad for crying. Mommy grabbed me and shook me and I cried even harder. I was scared. Then mommy started crying. She hugged me and said she was sorry and she loved me. I love mommy. I didn't mean to make her cry.

Sometimes mommy won't get out of bed to play with me. She tells me to get away from her. She hides under the covers. She tells me to go watch a movie. I watch a lot of movies. I wish mommy would get up. I didn't mean to make her hide.

Sometimes mommy is very sad. She gets really quiet and won't smile. She sits on the couch and ignores me until I talk to her. She says her medicine helps her sadness, but I don't think it does.  She says she is depressed. I didn't mean to make her depressed.

My mommy is the best mommy ever. I'm just the worst kid. I wish I could make her happier. I wish she loved me more.

Set It Free

Imagine the most important person in your life. Picture their smile, their laugh, the way they hold themselves. Feel that? That warmth that spreads from the center of your chest outward to your fingers and your toes. That sense of content followed by picturing them at their best. Let yourself hear their voice calling out for you, ringing through your head as you answer them with a simple, "I'm here." Now imagine that you can't answer them; that somehow, you're not there. What if you woke up tomorrow and all you had left of this person was your memories of their smiles, their voice? Would you replay these images in your mind over and over to feel close to them or would you lock the pain away, deep in your heart? Would your day seem as bright and full of possibilities, or would a darkness envelope you? Why, you wonder? Why would you take this person from yourself? Surely something must force you. Maybe that person is dying or divorcing you or something to that extreme. Maybe they are walking away, because you never would. What if I told you that it was your choice to send this person away? What if I told you that I made this choice for the most important people in my life? I made the decision to give up three parts of my soul, and in essence my everything. I made the decision to give up my children.
What does giving up entail? I could be dramatic and say I'll never see my children again, but that's simply not true. I will see them on weekends and holidays when I can pick them up. They'll know I am their mother and I love them. However, I won't be there to see them when they've had a bad day at school, or a good day for that matter. I won't be there to help them with their homework or to talk them through their first crush. No special after school routines or bedtime rituals. No having groups of friends come over and eat all the food in the house. Life with mom just won't be the same as life with dad. Someday when they're older they might choose to live with me and nothing would make me happier. I can't count on that though, I have to let go as if they'll never live with me again.
Why am I allowing this to happen? Let's look at this from a detached view, not driven by emotion. One that I eventually had to embrace. I live in a small, rural house with no means of transportation to and from for river trips, park visits, etc. I am on food stamps which means halfway through the month I am wondering where my next meal is coming from. I have only the very basics to offer. I cannot take my kids to Sea World or Schlitterbahn on a whim. I cannot buy them fashionable clothes for school. I cannot get them the cool toys they see at the store or snacks at a movie. I simply cannot. Their father can offer them all this and more. He has the income to raise happy, normal, suburban kids with only the most superficial worries. They can have their own bedrooms and cell phones and all the fun stuff you hear kids want nowadays. Furthermore my bipolar disorder means I can't even give them the attention they deserve. What am I supposed to tell them on days when I can't even get out of bed? Come back later, mommy has issues? How do I connect with my children when I cannot connect with the world around me?  I let them go because I cannot give them what they deserve out of life.
If this was you, what would you do?

From the Depths

When I was a kid the world was huge. Bright blue skies, the warm sun and a soft wind across my face was all I needed to feel the beauty of the world. I had plenty of friends to cause trouble with and though things were not good at home, I felt connected to the ebbs and flow of the planet. As I grew older and got married, started a family, the world only grew brighter. Life was an adventure and I was truly happy.

Around the age of 25, I developed bipolar disorder. It was then that the world began to shrink slowly. I started by dropping social contacts, I was never in the mood to hang out anymore or make new friends. My family kept me sane and able to work. Thus the wide open world was narrowed to family time, grocery shopping, and work. On rare occasions the world opened up a little for concerts or parties, but I did not seek these out anymore. My infinite vision of time had become foggy. I could see a month or two in advance. Bills, birthdays, important events dictated my schedule. I threw myself into work, the only thing outside of home that I was engaged in. Work was something normal people did. As the years continued, I developed anxiety disorder and PTSD.

At this point I started to lose control over my life. I worked even harder, trying desperately to maintain a normal life. I had bursts of anger where I would yell and scream at my husband and children. Then I would plummet into a depression, feeling like shit for what I had done. I had reckless mania where I would spend our savings on toys and special treats for the kids and my husband. These moments were the only happiness I felt for a while. Nothing could pull me out of the vicious cycle of mood swings and a dark cloud seemed to follow me. I had no concept of time at this point. Everything was a blur of intense emotion, I was trapped in my head. My children got used to hiding from mommy. They never knew if I'd be angry and yelling, depressed and wanting to be alone, or manic and wanting to go have fun. It was confusing for them to say the least.

It wasn't until I started to lose my ability to be around people that I finally swallowed my pride and asked for help. I expected to get prescribed meds and feel instantly better. I let down my guard and allowed myself free range. This was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I began 2 straight years of reckless action. Sexual promiscuity, excessive use of drugs and alcohol, and selfishness. I was so busy doing me that I lost sight of that family that held me together. I started treatment roughly 4 years ago and it has taken me until now to find the right medication combo.

So 4 years later, am I cured? Fuck no, but I'm finally aware. I can see my children again and am doing everything in my power to earn their forgiveness. I know what it feels like to have an extreme surge of emotion and have learned to talk about it with my loved ones. I have a goal for who I'd like to be again and I'm making progress towards it. My world is today. One day at a time. If I work hard enough just maybe I'll feel the sun and wind on my face once again.

My Art

The Nature of Pain

I've felt immense pain twice in my life. The pain consumed me both times. Pressing down around me, suffocating me. At first, I tried to escape. Manipulating, lying, desperately trying to find relief. When that didn't work the panic set it. My heart raced as I felt the pain close in on me with no hope of release. I was forced to endure it day in and day out. Each morning I would wake feeling numb from sleep. Each morning I felt agony as the memory of the painful events took hold again. Every so often the pressure would build and I would sob for relief. My mind was on auto pilot, living one day at a time, every day a struggle to keep moving. This lasted several months. Then the pain began to subside. The first time I emerged covered in emotional scabs. Hard covers that kept all strong emotion out. This was my defense against future pain. Does this mean I felt nothing? Of course not. I felt love again. However, the love was guarded.  The depth of my emotion hidden from those I loved as well as myself. I stayed this way for years. Then the second painful event occurred. The scabs were ripped clean and my world closed in once more. This time a curious thing happened when the pain began to fade. I noticed that instead of scabs, I was left with soft scars. Reminders of the pain yes, but healed. No longer festering. I take with me the memory of both great pains. I know I will experience the pain again. Yet I feel hopeful knowing I can now experience great love as well.

Dat Glimmer, Doe

I recently had my world smashed to pieces. Everything I defined myself by and everything I enveloped myself in was stripped away. I was left raw and open for the world. As a cold, unfeeling monster I had layers of armor made of apathy and even disdain. I could not be reached by anyone, not even my children whom I refused to reference in this blog. When my armor was destroyed I was suddenly able to feel everything I had shut out. Overwhelmed by all the pain I was in, I shut myself away from the world. I had to find a new kind of armor to keep them out. I could not walk amongst people if they could connect to me. The only problem, I had nowhere to hide. I had based my entire self identity on another person and when that person left I was naked and alone with no one to cover me. I reached out to an old friend. By all rights she should have turned me away. We hadn't spoken in years and here I was crying on her doorstep. She took me in, she held me while I cried, she told me to get back up and find my place in this world. Slowly, I began to venture out. Trying desperately to replace my missing armor at first and failing miserably. I began to realize that I could connect to others. That my once distant observation of those around me could become something more. I saw my children for the first time. I saw them desperate for their mother to show them love. I had so accustomed myself to alienation that I had sealed myself from them as well. Little by little, I allowed myself to feel for them. The more I let myself feel, the easier it was to control my temper with them. We started to talk. They shared stories of their life with me and I felt the warmth only they could provide me. I realized that I had let my fear of showing weakness completely block out my ability to love. I will spend the rest of my life making that up to them. They deserved more. I saw that the person I had entwined myself with was a cancer that was eating me from the inside. The further away I got from this person, the more I began to see myself as my own person. I now know that I have much to give to those around me. I know now that I can love. That what I had before was not love, but sick devotion and fear.