A Daughter's Story

It's a woman's recollection of her childhood and her interactions with her mentally-ill mother.

     My story, as a daughter, has not been what many would expect. I think it’s about time that I share my story with people; I am not ashamed of it. It’s all based off of my memories, and it’s a little choppy but I did the best I could with the time period I’m trying to cover. And I can promise you this; everything I’m telling you is true. The good, the bad, and the ugly. In order for you to truly understand, even a bit, I have opted to tell you everything truthfully. Again, I’m sorry for the choppiness of it all, but a lot has happened and it’s hard for me to put it into words. No matter how many times I’ve tried to write my story down before, it never turns out the way I want it to. So I’m sorry to say this version didn’t end up how I was hoping it would either, but I know this is the best that I can do. I’m not going to tell you absolutely everything that’s happened in my life because that would take too long, but I will tell you absolutely everything that I can possibly remember about my mother.

    Even from my earliest memories, my mother has always played a huge role in my life. I remember when we lived in a big city, I used to do dishes. My mother always told me to go out and play when I was left alone with her; she never let me be around her for very long. She never wanted anything to do with me. I don’t know why. There was one time when dad was really late getting home and she actually let me stay up and snuggle with her while waiting for dad to come home. I don’t remember her ever giving me hugs, or spending very much time with me back then. That’s why I value this memory so much.

     I remember when we first moved to our small town, it was in February, 2 months before my fifth birthday. On my fifth birthday, I got a set of rollerblades and a bike. When dad and I went biking, I let go of the brakes and my dad had to push me off or else I would have died. Needless to say, I was pretty scraped up. My mom completely freaked out when we got home. After that, everything began to change; it was subtle, at first. My mother began to sit on the couch in the living room; she was always sleeping or just lying there silently. She was always yelling at me for being too noisy, even when I hadn’t made a sound. At the worst point, I wasn’t allowed to have friends inside our house. I could walk by her, and she would just sit there glassy-eyed, staring outside the window. She wouldn’t stir, even if I called to her. I was too scared to get to close to her, and I even began to hate her after a while because I didn’t understand what was going on or why she was acting so weird.  There was one time I broke the rule of not bringing friends in the house, it was because we saw a snake and we were all terrified of snakes. When we came running in and I tried to explain to my mom, she just yelled at me that she didn’t care and she just wanted me to shut up. After that, me and my friends quickly left my house. They never mentioned anything about that day afterwards, or at least not the part with my mom.

     My parents separated in the summer of my sixth year. I remember when they sat me down and told me about it. I was sitting in my mom’s lap, when I started crying, I remember she asked my dad to take me. I reached out for her, although my vision was blurry, I could tell her face was scrunched up. If I had to put a name to the expression now…I’d say it was either disgust or distaste. I didn’t want to sit in my daddy’s lap, I wanted my mommy. I reached out for her to hug me, but she never did. She just sat there looking at me as I bawled my eyes out. When I asked about why they weren’t going to live together anymore. I was told that they had things they couldn’t sort out and mommy had to go to a hospital in the city because she was very sick and it would be easier if she had her own place to live. I didn’t realize this at the time, but in the future this memory would play a major role. Because of this, I became so scared of getting close to people because I was afraid they’d shut me down emotionally, just like how mom did. It took me until age 19 to figure THAT one out...

    From then until April-ish, she was in that hospital. One of her treatments was shock treatment; it had a 75% success rate. My mom was unfortunately in the 25% that was unsuccessful, plus it also made her condition worse. They also began experimenting with what medicines to give her and how much, only a few times that I can remember afterwards she would have to go back so that they could switch and adjust her medications. I went down to the city over my March Break to see her when she was allowed out; after I got back I was really sick. My mom never found out about how sick I had been until a long time after she got back, she held no interest in that little issue.

   For a while after she had come back to our little town from the hospital, I wasn’t allowed to see her.

     All throughout public school, I would see my mom. Either every weekend, every other weekend or sometimes even on weekdays. I saw her a lot over the summer especially. From the second I was allowed to stay with her, I had to make my own food or find my own food. Before I figured that out, oftentimes I would go hungry. My mom rarely made food for me. Every dinner, we would eat out. I remember one time coming from a Chinese restaurant and we were 3 blocks from her house when I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She pulled over to the side of the road and told me to get out of the car because she didn’t want me getting sick in her car and dirtying it. She asked if I could walk and I said I think so. So she told me she would meet me at her apartment. The second she turned the corner, I threw up on the spot. I took two steps threw up again. By the time I got to the corner, I had thrown up 5 times in total. There was a man across the street, I felt bad for him. He saw the whole thing, from my mom dropping me off until my whole vomit fest. By the time I got back to her apartment, I had thrown up a total of 7 times. I went in and laid down; I ended up throwing up on her floor. After that, I was dry heaving all night. I got in trouble for getting sick; she left me to my own devices after lecturing me. This was nothing new; me getting sick happened so much that it became a regular every day thing. But my dad usually dealt with me when I was sick, not my mom, never her. She thought it disgusting and gross so my dad had to look after me, or else no one would have. He always did the best he could when taking care of me, and he still does.

      Every time I was over there, I always had to do chores for her. Oftentimes she wouldn’t move off the couch and she would tell me to do things. By the time I was 7, she had me hauling firewood into the apartment. I would have to go buy her food downtown on my bike, sometimes I would even have to go buy her medicine. Although, that didn’t start to happen until I was 11. Mainly I just had to get her things or clean up around the apartment. I did it all without complaint, because she said she was feeling sick.

     When I was 9, she got her first boyfriend in a series of failed relationships. Jamie, he was a really cool person. I got to fire a shotgun, with my mom’s permission. He had two kids; one had the same name as me and the same birthday, except she was a year older. I really liked them. My mom would cook and clean and kind-of act like a mom. I still did whatever she told me too, and when he wasn’t around it was the same as before. Their relationship only lasted a year, I never saw my two friends again. Afterwards, she had a series of boyfriends. I only remember two of them. I did get to see Jamie again, after he called randomly one night and asked my mom if he could come spend the night. She said yes and shortly afterwards he showed up on our doorstep. I accidentally walked in when my mom was helping Jamie take his shirt off, he had a bunch of red welts on his back. His face was also bruised. I wasn’t supposed to see. I found out later that his girlfriend was abusive.

     My mom used to play mind games. She got me to turn against everyone in my life, and tried to get me to live with her. She was verbally abusive, even back then. It was kind of funny; all of my friends were terrified of her. My best friend at the time, she was the only one who saw my mother when she wouldn’t move off the couch. My mom never had episodes in front of my friends. But I’ve seen them. She would go on a cursing rampage, and if I said the wrong thing, she’d turn on me and I would receive a verbal lashing. That happened to me a lot when I was younger, before I was able to read her moods. Now I can always tell when she’s about to have an episode. I remember one time when my mom came to pick me up from public school because I was sick and they couldn’t get a hold of my dad. A girl from my grade casually told my mom that I didn’t like the girl. After my mom and I walked out of the school, I received a verbal lashing from my mom. That’s all I heard for the rest of the day. Needless to say, I wish I had been allowed to cry. ‘Cause if I could have, I would have, but I wasn’t allowed too. Let’s just say, that girl became someone that I really wished that I would never have to see again.

     She hardly ever came to any event I was in. If I was lucky, she’d show up for 5 minutes then leave. Sometimes, no one was there for me, at whatever I was participating in. It sucked. I remember when she showed up at awards day in public school, I won an award that day. I was really happy to see my mom, I was also really shocked. I didn’t think I’d ever see her there. She was also there for grade 8 grad, I was so happy. Those two events were the only times she’s ever stayed through the whole thing. Every other thing, she either showed up for 5 minutes, or she didn’t show up at all. These two memories, I value a lot. Because those are the only times she’d seemed semi-proud to call me her daughter.

     My most valued memory I have of my mom is when we were at my great aunt’s visiting, I had overslept and mom tried to wake me up. She ended up hitting me over the head with a pillow, that sure got me up fast. I was so shocked she did that, it wasn’t like her. I ended up retaliating. She just hit me back. I tried to get her again but she was out of my reach so I chucked the pillow at her, she closed the door just as the pillow would have hit her. She re-opened the door and told me to get up because lunch would be ready soon. She closed the door and I could hear her laughing as she walked down the hall. I have to say this is the happiest memory that I have of her. It is my most cherished memory.

     When I was 10, we started playing tennis together. It’s the only thing we’ve ever done together. I always used to feel inferior to her, no matter how hard I tried to become better, it was never acknowledged. My mom always was a better player than I was. The odd time, she would complement me on a shot I made; it made me happy yet sad at the same time. I was glad she somewhat acknowledged me, but sad because her words always seemed hollow, like she thinks I’m a failure and is just trying to humour me. I can’t describe it very well, and even to this day, any kind word that she says to me sounds that way. You can tell she doesn’t mean what she says.  

     When I was 11, we had CAS knocking on my door. Something about my dad driving drunk with me in the vehicle. Obviously it was all false. Dad thinks it was mom who sent the allegation to CAS. Because mom and I were going to Nova Scotia for Christmas that year and dad was afraid mom might decide not to come back, and I’d be living with her in Nova Scotia. So he filed for divorce and had all the terms written up, so that he could get me back if she decided to stay. All the terms were agreed on, they just needed to go to court for it and that’s that. And shortly after, what do we know but CAS is knocking on our door. A bit suspicious, no? To this day we still don’t know if it was really her or not. But how she was acting and the previous events make her the most likely person.

     When I was 12, was when my mother first started telling me things that I shouldn’t know about. Like the stuff about her boyfriends, my uncle, and her family’s female curse. One of her boyfriends was too controlling, and that’s why they broke up. Another boyfriend she broke up with, only afterwards did she find porn on her computer. I can’t remember exactly, but I think there was some kiddie porn on there and bestiality too, all I remember was that mom was going on about how sick the porn was and she couldn’t believe what a sick person she had been dating. Now that I think of it, that’s funny coming from her, the whole ‘sick’ thing. She also told me everything that I know about my uncle, her brother. He’s clinically insane and manic bipolar type one, which is the worst and most dangerous kind out there. To date, I think he’s been in an asylum 3 times. He’s pulled every tooth out of his head with a pair of pliers. He’s biked from Toronto to Nova Scotia twice. My mom told me how he wants to kill her, his other sister, his two kids and ex-wife and he used to abuse his two kids just for kicks. The only reason he isn’t after me is because he knows my dad would hunt him down and kill him if he ever harmed a hair on my head. It didn’t take me long to realize that after my dad dies, I’m going to be running for my life. I couldn’t stay here because he knows where I live. My mom told me how the last time they were face to face, he tried to kill her. Now you may be wondering why he isn’t locked up somewhere. Well, unfortunately he’s way too smart. He just tells the doctors what they want to hear and they have to let him go. He gets kicked out of my grandparents’ house whenever he shows up. He causes my diabetic Nanny a lot of stress by being a troublemaker; he only does it when Poppa is gone though. My mom also told me about her side of the family, how the females all have issues with having children. It makes it nearly impossible to have children. I may have been 12, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t want kids when I was older. But there’s a high chance that I’d take after my mom in that department, so that dream was destroyed. Plus I had to fear my uncle. I remember that I would sporadically have dreams where he would try and kill me and no one would be there, I always died in some horrible way every time. I remember in one of the dreams, he beat me to death with a baseball bat covered in barbed wire. I was freaked out for weeks afterwards.  I still have dreams like that sometimes, on the rare case that I dream at all. Now that I think about, the only dreams I remember are my so-called nightmares. They don’t scare me anymore so I call them weird dreams instead. You get used to them after a while.

     When I was 14, CAS came knocking on our door. Why? See I had talked to people from my church and they misunderstood the situation with my mom, so they called CAS on her. It’s really funny actually. Dad’s half-tempted to show mom that same letter, just to show her she’s not as perfect and innocent as she seems to think she is (in dad’s words, not mine). She’s good at blaming others.

     When I was 15, I was talking to an old family friend when she brought up the reason behind my parents separation. She asked if I knew, I said I did. She told me that her daughter saw my mom in the bars getting drunk and going home with a different guy every night, although she was still with my dad at the time. I also found out that she never wanted children and she used to be quite the party animal, even when she was pregnant with me. It made a shiver go down my spine, I began thinking ‘If my mom found out she was pregnant before the time she did, at the sixth month mark, would she have gotten an abortion?’ Later on, I confronted my dad with the information about the true reason behind their separation; he was cornered and ended up having no choice but to confirm what I found out as the truth. The only way I can describe how that feels is that someone dumped a huge bucket of cold water on my head. It shattered my world to pieces. I began thinking ‘weren’t we good enough? Did she ever love us at all?’ And the worst part is, she blames their separation all on my dad, and even though I know the truth, I can’t say a word.

     This is also the year I got my very first disturbing phone call, well from her anyhow. I was sleeping when my dad came in and woke me up; my mom was on the phone. She was crying and some of the things she was saying…made me think that she would commit suicide if I didn’t calm her down. Now, talking people down from suicide is a pretty common thing for me, but talking down my own mother? Now THAT was a completely different story, cause I knew if I couldn’t do it, it’d be my fault that she died. If I said one wrong word, one little word, could push her over the edge. I managed to do it; needless to say, I didn’t really sleep for the rest of the night. From after this point, I’ve received a few other calls where she called me up crying. For each and every phone call, I’ve had to lie through my teeth. I hate lying…It gets tiring when that’s all you ever do. See, whenever I’m around her I have to act a certain way or else it upsets her. There’s a lot of things I can’t say or show her without her flying off the handle bars. So I end up having to lie a lot, unfortunately I’ve gotten too good at lying for my tastes, although I do it out of pure necessity. Honestly, I’m really tired of it all.

   I remember there was one time I couldn’t keep my mask up, so I didn’t. My mom kept asking me what’s wrong and I finally caved and told her. BIGGEST mistake of my life I tell ya. She began crying and telling me how cruel, cold, selfish, uncaring, and what a cold-hearted person I am. I got in trouble for upsetting her. Yet if I didn’t tell her, I would’ve gotten yelled at and if I did then I still get yelled at. Either way, I can’t win. I don’t know if what she said is about me is true, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but no parent should ever say those things to their child. That’s why it’s easier to smile, you can hide everything behind it and no one would be able to tell otherwise. People wonder why I have to lie; well this is the reason people. Try and keep my mom happy, and you’ll have a real easy life. It’s the only way to survive.

     I remember another time, we were talking about my dad and a family friend and why they aren’t together yet. My mom said sharply “Your dad should realize that he can’t get a skinny, blonde haired, blue eyed, twenty year old woman anymore so he should just go out with her.” I had to bite my tongue and not say ‘Ya? And whose fault do ya think it is that he doesn’t try dating again? You completely messed him up with what you’ve pulled on him.’ The rest of that visit I can explain in 4 words: a complete HELL hole.

     During that year, I had an interesting conversation with my psychologist. Yeah, I had to see a psychologist; I couldn’t…handle what was going on in my life anymore so I was sent to her to help me sort things out. I started seeing her when I was 14. Anyways, one session I was talking about my mom and what she told me made a lot of sense. She helped me to realize how bad my mom actually treated me. I didn’t notice before, I know that sounds funny, but I didn’t. I turned a blind eye to it. I’m really good at suppressing memories. Like how I was affected in public school. I was always mature for my age, I was always alone-I didn’t have a support system, my friends were there but they almost never stood up for me and my family just told me to suck it up so I eventually just completely gave up on telling them about it. I was someone who wouldn’t follow the crowd, so I was bullied. Because I grew up too fast, my mom made me grow up way to soon. She also told me that the relationship between my mom and I, well the roles are reversed. In our relationship, I am the mother and my mother is the daughter. My mom needs me, she’s dependent on me. She may be dependent on me, but that doesn’t mean she cares about me. I remember her looking me in the eye and saying “Wonderful Letdown, your mother doesn’t love you”. It hurt to hear, I already knew that but it’s a whole new ball game to actually hear it out loud. I almost cried, but I didn’t let myself. I had no right to cry, and I still don’t. Afterwards, on the way home I wrote a poem about everything she’s ever done to me, it’s not really a poem but more of a rant. At the time, I was angry and upset and bitter, but I still cared, I’ve been updating it since I wrote it.

     This is also around the time I started having “fits”, they would always happen at night while lying in bed trying to sleep, usually after thinking about the relationship between my mother and I. My chest would always hurt, like there was a giant hole there and there would always be a dull throb too, and breathing would become difficult. The pain would get so bad that I’d begin to sob, not long after that I would be screaming and thrashing around in bed. My dad was usually never home when it happened, and if he was I would either muffle my screams with a pillow or bite my hand or tongue to prevent my screaming. Now, I’m not a loud person, I don’t yell let alone scream. My dad has never found out about my nightly fits, but he has seen me completely break down crying because of her enough times, each time he’d just hug me and let me cry. That surprised me, when I was younger he would let me cry for a few minutes before telling me to stop crying but he never told me to quit crying, unlike when I was younger. For that, I’m really grateful.

     It wasn’t ALL bad; I received my first compliment from my mom…EVER. Before my 15th year, I had never received a compliment from my mom except for when we played tennis together, but I don’t think that counts. Y’know the whole “good sportsmanship” thing, if she didn’t it would’ve made her look bad. Anyways, I was complimented for my grades, that’s the only thing I’ve ever received a compliment from her for. Actually, even to this day I only ever receive compliments from her on my grades, although I can tell she’s forcing herself. She doesn’t really mean what she says. I also got to meet her boyfriend, he’s really nice. I’m not allowed to tell him my mom’s sick, I feel bad that he got stuck with my mom. I had to help my mom move in with him, actually, she wanted me to come visit specifically so that I would have to help with the moving and cleaning of furniture. I also was forced to dismantle a shelf, I worked hard all weekend with the moving. I wasn’t amused, but I wasn’t surprised either. See, that’s the way it is, the only time she wants me down to visit is so that I can do stuff for her or that there’s things we have to get done.

     When I was 16, my mom and her boyfriend got there hunting guns’ license and their restricted guns’ license and they started buying guns. Sorry, but I don’t get it. How the heck does a mentally ill women get a guns’ license? That’s what I’d like to know. I didn’t know who to go too to tell them about my mom and the guns’. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it because someone had to lie and say my mom wasn’t mentally ill. Besides this, every time I saw her, I almost always got verbally bashed. Plus I’d had to put up with listening to  the daughter of one of my mom’s friends, talk about all of the things my mother has done for her, more than what she’s ever done for me. It hurt to watch. They all seemed like a family and I was only the third wheel. It sucked. And it was really painful to watch.

     Since my mom hooked up with this guy when I was 14, she actually acted like a mom, well kind of. She made meals for me, I never went hungry. Plus I got to do less stuff. Most people would think that’s awesome, but not me, it hurt. A guy made her more self-efficient, yet her own child didn’t affect her at all. Was I not good enough? I guess not, not for her. She always seems disappointed in me. Always has been, no matter what I do or how hard I try to please her. I guess I’m just not worthy enough for her and I doubt I ever will be.

     This is the year I found out manic bipolar can be hereditary. The thought that I could end up just like my mom terrified me. Let’s just say it was a real FML moment for me, one of many I’ve had over the years.

     When I was 17, I remember my mom showing me all of their guns, including the .44 magnum pistol they have. She even made me hold it. She also went off her medication, and lied to me about when she went back on it. Instead of being off it for a month, it was more like 6 months. On top of that, every time I came over she would get drunk and I would have to deal with her in that state. She’s not supposed to drink because a.) it makes her condition worse and b.) it doesn’t mix well with her meds. It’s scary, because her manic episodes results in her becoming enraged at anything and everything. I remember her telling me about the real relationship between a family friend and my dad, how my dad was only using her for sex. But when I asked him about what their relationship was, he said she was just a friend. I don’t know who to believe. My family has been known to lie to me a lot, so who am I supposed to believe in when I can’t even believe in my own flesh and blood?

      My mom is usually very verbally abusive, if she wasn’t bashing my dad or my aunt, she would rail on me. She usually just goes on and on about how cruel, cold, selfish, uncaring, and what a cold-hearted person I am. I don’t know if what she says is true, perhaps it is and if it is, well I have a lot of apologizing to do in the future. That’s what scares me the most, a mentally unstable woman who drinks alcohol, which makes it worse, around firearms. Now, tell me what is wrong with that picture? I dream of her a lot you know. In every one of those dreams I see her killing my friend then me, after killing her boyfriend and all of her cats. I guess on some level I’m scared of her. Because her episodes come out as anger, I’m scared that if she goes off the deep end then it would be really easy for her to pick up one of her guns and kill someone. I think these dreams first started when I was 15, they’ve only gotten worse since then. And it’s not usually guns I dream of, it’s usually her holding a bloodied knife.

     In the summer, my parents had a fight. I got dragged into it by my mom, as per usual. I had to go into my dad’s room and grab all of the things that the fight was over and put it down in front of my dad. My mom was sobbing on the phone and was threatening to call the cops and what-not. Later on that same summer, she threatened to call the cops if I didn’t call her by the next morning. The reason? I hadn’t called her in three weeks. She kept going on about how she should have moved  to the city with me, and that I would be a much better person if I’d been raised by her. I had to bite my lip to not say “You’re right, I probably would’ve jumped off a building and be in a grave by the time I was 10.” Very mean and callous, I know, but it’s true. I’d have gone insane if I had lived with her alone, hell being with her for short periods of time makes me want to run away. But that’s all I hear now, that it was a mistake that she let my dad raise me. 

     But that summer also holds a special memory. Kevin "her boyfriend, my mom and I all went in a boat and went fishing. It was a lot of fun. I ended up with some really strange sun burns. I’ll never forget that afternoon. It was truly a happy time, before all the trouble came up. I guess you could say this moment was the calm before the storm…

     One of the times my mom called me crying was because of something on my facebook page. She was crying and screaming about me posting my “real feelings” on facebook, she just railed into me about it. No matter how hard I tried to explain to her what those posts were, she wouldn’t listen. She hung up before I could explain. What were the posts? Quiz results. A fight over stupid quiz results. I showed my dad and he just laughed, the quizzes were extremely simplistic. I didn’t talk to my mom for days afterwards. When I did, I managed to tell her they were quiz results. She quickly changed the topic. I never received an apology from her for that, even though she was in the wrong. Now that I think about it, in all my years, not once have I ever received an apology from her. Ever. The only apology I got from her was her apologizing for not taking me away from my dad when she had the chance.

     I found out that ever since she was first diagnosed, she would constantly go off her medication. I guess I wasn’t strong enough motivation for her to stay better. I was angry…and hurt. Everything she’s put me through, the worst of it because she was choosing not to take her medication. Was I really so unimportant? Was I not worth the effort? I really wish I could cry. I really don’t like this hurt side of mine, it gets in the way a lot.

     Around this time my “fits” mostly went away. I’d still get the pain from the memories, but the crying rarely happens and the screaming and thrashing had completely stopped. For this, I am glad.

     I got my dad talking about what my mom was like before she became sick. I wish I had been lucky enough to see the woman my dad fell in love with, God only knows how much I wish that I could’ve seen it...

 

     But now, at age 19. Many things have changed. Mom waited until I was out of school to try and take the house, and that’s exactly what dad and I expected. All the hurt I had from not having a mother, it’s gone. I love my mother deeply, but I’m not willing to let this cycle continue. It’s unhealthy, for the both of us. I know that there’s going to be a lot of backlash from this. I know I’m going to lose relatives over this and that hurts. But for once in my life, I feel like I have some shred of power and control over my life. For once, I don’t feel like I’m trapped in a hopeless mess. I’m not scared or as stressed as I was before. I feel so free and happy, something I’ve never felt so much of. I don’t have to lie and smile when all I really wanna do is break down and cry. I know my decision will hurt a lot of people, and that KILLS me inside. But I NEED to do this, I can’t keep doing what I have been for years. It’d cause even more pain and I don’t want that. I love them too much, no matter how angry I get or how much they’ve hurt me, I’ll still love them. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to sit down and let them beat me into the ground. Because all this is doing is causing me pain, no more, no less and love isn’t supposed to hurt and hurt only. How am I supposed to become an adult, my own person if I’m always cowering in the corner second guessing everything I do or say because of fear? Fear of being hurt again. There’s only so much I can take. I’ve even gone so far as to vow never to have a romantic relationship because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to love. I love my mom dearly, the rare instances I’ve seen her...but what I see the most is her illness not her. I don’t really know her, all I know is her illness. And I can’t stand that. I’ve taken a stand, and if she doesn’t want to work with me to help protect me from her. Then that’s okay, and I understand but this isn’t right and I refuse to stand for it anymore.

 

     And this isn't even all of it, but this is all I could really put down into words. If I were to put it all down, I'd have a small novel.   

I hope that you won’t let my story get you down. This is normal. This is my normalcy. Normal is relative to one’s circumstances. It may be unusual to you, but I wouldn’t know because this is all I have ever known. I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything other than this. I’m just your average person, I’ve made many mistakes, I have many regrets, things that I wish went differently but the past is the past and it cannot be changed. What I’ve been through makes me who I am, it makes me… me, no more no less. I’m just your average girl with an average life and an average family.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism only please.

Reviews

[Persona]

Hopefully you won't develop bipolar disorder. I don't think you will. It seems you've learned to be very mature and very careful in advancing your mother and I think that'll aid you in life generally growing up with someone like that. The fertility issue and your uncle were the most fascinating parts to read and with something so dramatic, I can see why people may be afraid to comment on such a traumatic life. It's really brave of you to post this, Wonderful Letdown, I think more on your uncle and the fertility would be even more interesting. I'm unsure if it bothers you about the possibility of struggling for children? I think that you covered so many areas like your school life was really important and the third last paragraph was very relatable. It can be a little repetitive in places, sorry, you could remove those parts, but otherwise I think this a very meaningful, true life account that should be shared by many people.

[Wonderful Letdown]

Thank-you for your kind words. First of all, bipolar and manic-bipolar are different things so please don't confuse the two. Bipolar is a CLASSIFICATION for a specific type of mood disorder. (Unipolar is the other one, all the different kinds of depression falls under this classification). While MANIC-BIPOLAR type II tells you the SPECIFIC illness the person has. Because my mother and uncle have a a version of manic bipolar, my chances of developing one of the two versions is 8 times more likely than that of someone without any family history of mental illness.

I'm not a brave person, I wrote this to help me sort out everything and get it out. The only reason why I posted this is because in case anyone who has a similar background somehow manages to find this, I want them to know that THEY ARE NOT ALONE. There's such a stigma around mental illness that if you have a relative who is mentally ill, it's something that is generally pushed under the table. It makes things tough when you're hurting and have no one to talk to about it because no one understands your predicament. I get that, and I want people to know "It's okay, I understand because I've been there." I've been told that I've been through so many traumatic things in my life (not just my mother) but it's not something I really notice. To me, all this is, as I said, normal. I don't know any different. I've heard some pretty horrific things in my time, not much surprises me anymore. And the whole reason people tell me so much is BECAUSE I've been through so much and I can understand on some level. I don't give out pity or sympathy for what I hear, I give EMPATHY. Which I would not have to the extent that I do if it wasn't for my mother. I'm not brave, I just care about people and I want them to know they aren't alone.

I would have added more on the fertility issue and my uncle if I knew more. The last time I saw my uncle face to face, I was about 3 or 4, so I don't remember him. All I remember is that my parents didn't like me being around him and I didn't like him very much. He scared me. As for the other issue, I don't know much about it. All I know is that for a variety of different reasons, there seems to be something that is/goes wrong with those organs that requires an early hysterectomy. I am not bothered by the possibility of not having children and I would have added in any struggles/wrote something else about it, but as I am only 19 and completely unattached, I'm not attempting that anytime in the foreseeable future.

Could you please tell me what parts are repetitive so that I can remove/change those parts?

[Persona]

I'm sorry for confusing the two. I don't have a situation like yours, the closest for me is that I have Aspergers (mild autism) and mu aunt is schizophrenic but I see her on rare occasions so we can't really compare. I still think it's tough for anyone to write about something so deeply personal and unfortunately I can't truly understand your situation because I've never been there but it was really educational for me. Ok - twice you mentioned the mean things your mother says to you. I get that it hurts a lot so I was thinking that's why you repeat it. You begin with 'oftentimes' a lot too. Most of the time I think you make really good points and the therapist and everything is so much detail, you're really trying to express your situation. Maybe you could be a little clearer too? The variations of bipolar disorder aren't explained. Is that because you don't know or do you feel it's not important? I think it would be a good addition in helping to make me understand the condition better.

[Wonderful Letdown]

It's alright, I understand that you probably wouldn't have known (since you seemed so interested in it, that is why I mentioned it). I'm sorry about your aunt and your illness, it's not easy being sick. Especially if you don't look it (I have an illness too but I don't look sick so most people wouldn't even know).

Thank-you for your kind words. I didn't expect you to understand my situation, and I'm honestly quite happy you don't. Because it IS hard and it IS painful, it's not something I would want ANYONE to have to experience. Even though you don't understand my situation, you ARE curious about it and THAT in itself means the world to me. Because it shows you care by trying to understand it, and through that breeds tolerance and acceptance. It's breaking through the stigma that surrounds mental illness. And that is a huge part of why I did finally decide to write this, was because I wanted to bring awareness at my school (which sadly, I never got the chance to do as I wasn't able to finish my project). You have no idea how happy I am that you seem so truly interested in this.

No, I didn't write about the variations because this is based off of my memories and what it's like to be a family member of someone who is ill. I was actually planning on writing about mood disorders and the various conditions there are ( I have plenty of research material from all the times I had planned to write about it but never got the chance as there's so much it's kind of hard to narrow down). I find it kind of funny in a round about way that you have a relative who is schizophrenic as many people who have a version of bipolar are oftentimes first diagnosed with schizophrenia. And the medications for schizophrenics makes the symptoms of bipolar worse.

I'm still trying to figure out how to write about the mood disorders, I'm going to do one for unipolar and bipolar. Obviously I'm going to write about their symptoms in detail....but I'm not quite sure what else to add in. Should I put in the variety of treatments?

Any input you have on what I should put in (I'm going to do 2 books, one for unipolar and one for bipolar) would be greatly appreciated. Or anything in particular you would like to know about it? I'll write about it as I'm sure someone else would have the same questions.

[Persona]

No, you don't have to be sorry at all! I think others go through worse than I do, even if I feel like my problems bug me. I can't believe you didn't get to finish your project! I tried to explain my condition to people, but even if you hope for the better a lot of the time they're really not interested - it's too much for them to consider, as I found when trying to inform people. If it interests you writing about mood disorders and bipolar and unipolar, then I say go ahead. Only write what you want to. (I sometimes have a passion to write something but later on I'm no longer interested). Yeah, sometimes autism can get confused with schizophrenia as well. I think a lot of disorders can be mis-diagnosed. If you'd like to put in the treatments, you can. I wouldn't want to push you to write anything you don't feel comfortable with. I think making changes to your autobiographical account is a good step forward. I think anything you know from personal experience could really help another person one day. :)

[Wonderful Letdown]

Thank-you so much!!! And you're right, many disorders and illnesses are easily misdiagnosed (my illness is in the top 10 most easily misdiagnosed conditions).

No you wouldn't be pushing. In all honesty, the only thing I get upset about is when people use mental illness as an insult. "what are you? Mentally ill? (I've heard this and it made me snap) or the more common "I think they're bipolar", "The bipolar one". Those are the only things that upset me/make me uncomfortable concerning this topic. The illness and everything surrounding it I find helpful, it helps me to UNDERSTAND my mother and why she does/says what she does.

And thank-you, I've had the honor to share my experiences with people and I've had the privilege to see the impact it had on them. Though things have been, and continue to be, difficult I wouldn't change a thing.

[Persona]

You're very welcome and those are intolerant, ignorant people who say those things. Our situations make us a little more understanding, I think