Let me start off by saying Melancholy sucks! Bipolar sucks! I suck! Well, my brain sucks!
I hate to say it, but honestly, why me? What did I do to deserve this shit? I know I didn’t “do” anything, but it seems like sometimes I’m just being punished.
A little back ground might be helpful here (and I said I was going to give some).
My parents married on November 18, 1978. Yes, the same day as Jonestown. They also served Kool Aid at their reception. Now, the only way the priest was will to marry my parents is if my mother agreed to have children.
My mom never wanted kids because she had found her father dead in their back yard when she was 13. Her mom “checked out of reality” (her words, not mine) and she and her older sister were left to raise the remaining younger siblings. So she feels she was “cheated” out of her childhood.
Well, my mom did agree, as she wanted to marry my dad so bad. Maybe she thought her life would be better with him. I don’t know. They say they are “soul mates”, but soul mates wouldn’t do some of the things I’ve seen.
So a few years into their marriage, my dad kept saying he wanted kids. So, I suppose out of fear of my dad leaving her, she got pregnant with me. Now, by all accounts, I was a very good baby. I guess I never really cried. I was independent, very happy, and I was an early developer. So my mom figured it would be ok to have another baby, seeing as I was such a good one. Well, my little sister came along, and let me tell you, you couldn’t get two different people from the same set of parents as my sister and I! She was a very fussy baby, cried alot, always wanted to be held. She wouldn’t let any man near her other than my father.
My early childhood was pretty happy and ok. But then I got a little older. And my mom started telling me how she never even wanted kids. She told me I “tricked” her into having another baby. Mind you, I was not even three when my sister was born!
This happened quite a bit the older I got. She was always pretty mean to me. When I reached my mid teens, she started publicly referring to and introducing me as “the bad” or “evil child” and she would in the same breath introduce my sister as “the good child”. If I wore anything that was even remotely tight or form fitting, she would tell me that she could see every dimple and roll of fat that I had. I was 6′ and weighed anywhere between 140-155 pounds. I wore a size 8 jeans. My first prom dress, had to get it in a size 16 to fit over my breasts and rib cage and have the waist taken in. I was also an athlete. Yeah, I developed an eating disorder real quick!
I also got in trouble all the time! And for things like turning off the tv when my sister wanted to watch her music videos loudly while I was doing homework. My sister would call her at work, tattle on me, then I’d get grounded. Then my dad would get home and he would un ground me because I hadn’t done anything wrong!
She always accused me of all sorts of “wrong” things. I had a curfew (not a bad thing, but not for the right reasons). She always thought I was up to “no good” and that I was going to parties and drinking, doing drugs, and having sex. While my sister had no curfew, she was at almost three years younger than me drinking, smoking pot, and having sex IN MY PARENTS HOUSE with her boyfriends. But I was always doing something bad. I had my FIRST drink at 18 after I moved out and was in college. I was a virgin till I was 19. The only thing I did was I started smoking (tobacco) at 18. I turned 18 about two months before I graduated from high school. I’ve still only ever tried pot twice my freshman year of college, and haven’t touched any other drug!
But I was the bad child! I was also a genius! Was I angry? HELL YES I WAS! I was constantly threatened with “a room ready” for me at the “(pediatric) psych ward” Mind you, the state since has shut it down due to the years of neglect and sexual abuse from and to the patients there.
So, needless to say, yes, I developed Bipolar and borderline personality disorder. Not even touching on my physical health problems, I drew the short end of the stick here! When I was on the medications for everything, it seemed to make my symptoms worse (not at first, but later down the line as I started to stabilize). So that is why at this time, I’m off all psych meds.
I’m in “recovery” at this point. Not that I don’t get hypo-manic (also have ADHD, so it happens), I’ve had one full blown manic episode that lasted two days that I have absolutely no memory of, which I think is probably for the best because I’m sure I would hate myself more if I actually remembered some of the things I said and did to my husband that weekend! I don’t really have “major” depressive periods, but I can get quite down.
And then there is the melancholy! Let me tell you, this shit sucks! I don’t want to do anything, but I also don’t want to just sit there. NOTHING holds my attention. I can’t really sleep, but it doesn’t help that I have pretty severe insomnia since I was 14ish. I’m not sad sad, but I’m in no way shape or form happy. I have zero interest in food, and often go a few days between meals. I do drink the Ensure drinks because I have to. I wish I could be numb. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to think. Really, I just want to sleep. I don’t want to exist, because existing like this is awful. But I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to be. I want it to all go away. The boredom. The ehhh. The suck. The hurt. The fuck everything.
I mean, really, why? Why did I have to have the mom that hates her own daughter? Why couldn’t she just love me? Why? What the fuck did I ever do that was so fucking wrong, mom? I didn’t ask to be born! I didn’t choose to be alive! Most of the time I don’t really want to be. I couldn’t even kill myself right. Not that I should have lived. I just did.
And then she finally convinced my dad to turn on me too. He told me this last year that his BIGGEST regret was moving me back in with them to get me out of the domestic violence shelter I was in and to help get me back into the psych ward. He said he should have left me on the streets to die! He used to be my biggest supporter. I have cut them out of my life. But why? Why can’t they just love me?
I know, “God never gives you more than you can handle.” Well, I’m tired! I don’t want to “handle” anymore. I don’t have much fight left in me. Every time the fight gets a little bit harder. I don’t want to reach the day when I can’t do it anymore. Because then, that’s not a life worth living…