Who Am I? Does Anyone Really Know

Who am I? Sometimes I really wonder about that. Just who am I really?

Well, I know I am a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and a furry nana. But just exactly what does that mean?

I have no idea. The only thing is that I know I love my family with all my heart and I would do anything for them. Sometimes that means doing things that aren't exactly what I would like to do, but I do them.

So as I sit here once again I have celebrated another birthday without my parents, and without some who are so dear to me. It never gets easier. Not one bit. But it is the way life is, and there is nothing I can do about that.

All I do know is that I wish things were different. I wish my Mama and Daddy were here to call and say "Happy Birthday baby." But no they aren't. If you can hug your parents, then you should do that. I know not all relationships are perfect. Still, it is your parents. Tell your family how much you love them. Because just like a blink of the eye, they could be gone.

To the world I say spend time with your family, tell your loved ones how you feel, live each moment of each day as if there is no tomorrow, and have no regrets. Life is just a fleeting moment in this universe.

Life is such a strange thing. It is difficult to deal with at times and it is unbearable at times. Don't get me wrong I am so happy to have a life that is worth living and I am grateful for all I have. But there is so much about life that I wish was different. I know we can't change the way things are because no matter how much we would like to, it is impossible to make other people feel thing they don't want to feel.

As to the question of who I am; I am me and with that people have to accept that I am Bipolar, There are many, sadly, in this world that think this is just something that is made up. That Bipolar disorder is just a way of getting people to pay attention to us and a way to draw pity from the rest of the world. Haha, that is still so ironically funny to me. Because who in the world would want to be Bipolar, seriously? Why on earth would anyone use that as a way to get attention or make people feel sorry for them.

It took me so many years just to accept this in myself and to those who think it is bull, I wish you knew what it felt like to live inside my head for just a few minutes. Being bipolar is not easy by no means. It is a difficult thing that must be dealt with every second of every day. It is not something you can turn off or put away when you don't want to deal with it.

This is something that I must concentrate on every second of my life. If I forget just a moment then my mind swirls out of control. So you see this is me. That is who I am. If you can't deal with it, there is nothing I can do about that. It is your choice.

Back to who I am, well I guess it means I am just me. That is all. I am the best me I know how to be.

It means that when there is that person who has decided they do not want me in their lives, even though it kills my soul I do as they wish. Sure there are those who don't understand that. But when a person has chosen to hate and throw you away, well there really isn't much you can do. You can not force a person to love you, no matter how much you desire that result.

Who Am I? My Own Personal Hell on Earth

BiPolar disorder, when I was diagnosed it was merely known as Manic Depression. No one EVER talked about it and most had no idea what it even was. Then all of sudden those words came into my life.
My day had started like any other on that bitterly cold morning. The ice was hanging from the trees like lace, it was so beautiful. But after I arrived at Kindergarten that morning I would never be the same.

Our beloved teacher was out sick so we had a substitute. It really wasn't that unusual, even though we didn't have one very often it had occurred.
But today was to be a different experience altogether. I don't really remember how it started. I do however remember her face just inches from mine as she screamed. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"
I didn't even know what she was talking about but she just kept yelling. "LIAR, LIAR why are you lying?"

Ironically, I didn't really know that liars really existed. In my family, we didn't lie. Whatever I said my parents knew was the truth. That was just the way it was. So as she screamed liar, liar at me, my mind fell apart.
She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook as hard as she could. Thank heavens she was a tiny woman, but I was really little. The seams of my dress ripped as the material gave way to her vigorous shakes.
The tears fell down my cheeks as I kept saying "I'm not a liar." Nothing mattered to her. She was convinced I was guilty and whatever I said was inconsequential.

When my Mama picked me up I was deep in the darkness of a breakdown. It was a dark period for me, days later when I was so far into the world my parents didn't know anything about they took me to the doctor. Because they just wanted me to get over it. They were furious with the teacher and the school. (Side note) the teacher was never allowed to teach again. It didn't matter though the damage was done.
I remember the doctor who I had been seeing for the blue feelings I kept having even long before that day as he stood there trying to explain that the episode as he put it, had brought out my inner problems. The diagnosis of Manic Depression would come in the next few weeks as they tried to get me to move on.

No matter what I just could not get out of the sad deep dark hole I had crawled in to. For the, most part I have fought with that darkness every day since.
Manic Depression really big words for a five year to try and cope with. But as I took the lithium every morning.

Sitting on the cabinet as Mama would crush the little pill in a spoon, because I was horrified I would choke to death and die. Then, my days would consist of someone making me leave the house and go to school. At first, they would walk with us and go back home. I would stay for a few minutes then at the first chance I could get away without the teacher seeing me I ran home.
A few times of that and now Daddy began to drive me. It was horrible and I know he suffered too. But he would pull the car up to the corner by the school where two teachers met him. They would grab me by the arms and hold me as he sped away. I would scream, cry, beg and if they let I would run.
So with my flee instincts really strong I wasn't usually allowed outside during recess. I had to stay inside where someone could keep an eye on me.
Those were my days. But it was the night that was the worst. My heart would beat so loud it felt like you could hear it miles away. I would hyperventilate until I passed out and sit hidden in the darkness of the closet.

Those were the days of my life as I sank deeper within the dark world of my soul. The days when I became personal friends with panic attacks.
Five years old is supposed to be a time of happiness and laughter while you played. For me it was a learning period. Learning to hide what was going on inside of me.
My parents didn't understand, which they can't be blamed for. Mama just knew she had done something wrong and even though she never formed the words to me, I felt like she believed I wasn;t a good girl. Because if I was God would have answered her prayers and helped me.
It has been a long journey for me. One that I wouldn't wish on anyone. There are such highs for me and lows just as far down as the high was up.

Happy Mother's Day, My Mama Chose Me

Mother's Day.  Happy Mother's Day to all those who are able to hug their Moms and extra hugs to those who only have memories.

Happy Mother's Day to all those who celebrate alone.

Living life, for me, has always been a difficult task. I know that as a kid it was hard for Mama to deal with my problems because the world really didn't understand them. And both Mama and Daddy had absolutely no real knowledge on how to properly deal with my Bipolar disorder. They didn't have Google to look up the details, and the World Books didn't talk about it. Still, they endured and did the best they could.

So what it must have been for them to not really be able to 'band-aid' my problems away I have no idea. And I can't imagine what my Dad must have felt when he was forced to push me from the car into the arms of teachers so I would stay. Or how Mama felt as I cried for no reason and didn't have the vocabulary to explain what I felt.

No, I have no idea what it was like to be my Mama. I just know she tried. She hugged me, she made me laugh, she went fishing with me, and she never minded when we turned her house upside down. She drank her coffee, crocheted, sewed, and watched her stories while the world of play went around her feet.

She cooked supper while we pulled the pans out of the cabinet and climbed inside, she just stepped over us. She wasn't perfect, no one is. But she was my Mama, and I will alway miss her. I will always love her. Not a day goes by that I don't shed a tear that she isn't here to see Cole grow up, to see her great-grandkids grow into young women, and to share every moment of my life. I miss her so much, and I know that pain will always be a part of me.

What was her secret? I don't know. But I know she chose to have me even when it was a decision. My Mama had cancer. She found out when she was around 4 months pregnant with me, they wanted her to abort me and have surgery to remove the Cancer. Her reply was a simple No. Instead, she waited until I was 2 so I would always have the experience of having a mother as a baby. How many women would do that now? How many would choose their child over their own life? Would you?


Happy Mother's Day Mama you might not be here, but you are inside of me. You are inside my kids, and you are in my memories. You are in every moment of every day as I go through life and I will never forget and never stop loving you. Thank you, Mama, for choosing me and being the woman you were.