Today, I write the following blog post in brutal honesty. If you were wondering where I’ve been and why I’ve been silent (both here and on MyFitnessPal) here is why.
Multiple Trigger Warnings
I Died Again
During the night of April 11th, my Mom had another “episode”. I didn’t know until I came home on April 13th when I walked into another one.
I said “hi” to her when I came home on the morning of April 13th and everything seemed okay; she was completely normal.
It was about 20 minutes later after I had taken a shower that I found her. At this point, I had no idea what had transpired that Friday.
That’s when I noticed my Mom leaning over the kitchen counter on top of her coffee mug. She couldn’t move and there was a ton of powered creamer in the coffee; it was all down her night gown and she had it smeared on her face.
I immediately ran to her and shook her. Her eyes were barely open and she was unresponsive. This looked different to me from her previous episodes. I really thought that this was when my Mom was going to have a stroke and be crippled as a result of her past doings…
See, my Mom is a prescription pill addict/alcoholic. This has been going on since as early as I can remember from my childhood and a huge portion of where my anxiety comes from and affects me in all facets of my life.
When I use the term episode, I mean she took handfuls of pain pills (and/or drinking) and was totally stoned from its effects. She gets to the point where she doesn’t talk, doesn’t speak, but looks like she had a stroke. If she isn’t at that point, she walks around and does nonsensical things, like putting the remotes in the refrigerator, preparing dinner (terribly) at 3AM and even sleeping so soundly, she can’t be woken up by putting water on her face.
She turns into a mere shadow of who she used to be. Whenever this happens, I feel like I watched (or am watching) my mother die.
I also feel like a part of me dies when I see this…
It happens every time; every single, damn time.
|Also, just a quick side thought from me: If you think people cut themselves solely for attention, educate yourself before you say something so arrogant and hurtful: http://www.helpguide.org/mental/self_injury.htm. I can’t tell you how horrible it was to be bullied for crying out for help and having your so-called “friends” in high school tell everyone…or people that I know now.
It’s gotten to the point that over the years, I literally watch her and know when she’s going to do something. I watch in horror as I know that mentally, she is not feeling like herself and another episode is imminent. I become/became so sad because I knew there was nothing I can do.
In middle school, it was the worst. That was a period of years when I started to cut myself with knives, scissors and was very, VERY angry. If someone was mean to me, I took it to the extreme and most painful way possible. I never hit anyone, but I never trusted anyone. It was in High School that I became verbally abusive towards “my fellow peers” if they were rude to me. Hell, in my defense, it got a lot of people far the hell away from me.
Because I was fat and no one wanted to be my friend, I cried a lot when I was younger (by myself). My Mom would be my friend (and still is), but she would go through these episodes and when it happened and she was like that, it was like she wasn’t with me at all. I felt so alone and so sad. Although my grandma (Nani) was always there for me, I just wanted my Mom. I also wanted my Dad to just be nice to me and be nice to my Mom. I felt like it didn’t help that he would always scream at her and call her names.
People were quick to say “Allison, you need not to depend on your Mom for your happiness”. That REALLY irritated me. It’s hard not to feel something when your mother does this and your entire house was upheaved. My Dad took it out on me a lot; no, I wasn’t hit, but if I did something like stay out with my grandmother and she bought me a toy or something, he would scream at me.
But if I was acting like a smart ass, he thought it was necessary to run at me while I walked upstairs and throw me against the wall. I tried closing the doors a few times and locking it, but he would literally get within inches of my face and he would spit as he screamed at me. He grabbed me a couple of times and shook me.
Well, I guess there were a few times he did hit me. He never apologized and I think that’s what hurt the most.
Nothing I ever did was right and if I tried to say “Dad, don’t act like this”, that only pissed him off more.
When these episodes happen, my family is torn apart. My Dad will scream at her, tell her she’s a bitch and acts like she’s mentally retarded and a failure as a human being. The next few days, all was “normal” and I was forced to act like we had a happy family.
My Relationship with Food
As you can probably imagine, I ate as a comfort mechanism. When I did eat when I was little, I was alone and it was night. At night, I felt super comfortable; no one was up to scream at me for breathing the wrong way and my Mom wasn’t doing anything like popping pills or doing crazy things. Food was great; I ate entire bags of chips and leftovers from dinner.
After Finding my Mom
After I found my Mom and I brought her to the hospital, my Dad and brother waiting up there. I went home to do the years-old ritual of my household: find mommy’s stash.
I went into the scrapbook room (her room) and went to the back of the desk and found the pills. I was so shocked to see her old “favorite”: a muscle relaxer called Soma.
It was then I used the scissors to open the mini packets. I stopped what I was doing and stared at them.
When I used to hurt myself a lot, it was for various reasons:
- Guilt from feeling like this was somehow my fault
- Was so depressed/in shock that I couldn’t feel anything and I WANTED to inflict pain
- Wanting to see myself bleed and feel the sting
I remember actually laughing. I felt like I was in a nightmare and was ready for it to finally end. I not only wanted to hurt myself, but I wanted to fucking die. As in right there and then.
End, as in forever.
No more feeling pain, no more seeing my Mom kill herself with every episode, no one mad at me for having THE worst luck when it comes to employment, no one telling me I’m ugly or fat, no one telling me how to feel or telling me I’m an awful person for being Bipolar…Just, end. Done. Gone. Forever.
I kept staring at the scissors. I wanted to plunge them in my chest or cut my artery in my vein. After I fully realized what it was I wanted to do, I began to cry. And cry. And cry…
It was part happy and part sad. Happy because I felt emotion and knew I wanted to live and the other was sad for wanting to die in the first place.
It was about a half an hour later from that point (according to the clock), I simply put them down and got up from the chair.
After she was released from the hospital, I sat down and talked to her and told both of them how I felt. My Mom, still kind of out of it from the medicine earlier, said “Allison, if you promise to make a life for yourself, I promise to get my own…stop relying on me for you to start your life” (paraphrased).
That really hit me. It’s mostly true; I do try and make sure my Mom is always happy. I love being with my Mom, don’t get me wrong: she watches shows and all the horror moves with me. We go shopping together. My Mom is a wonderful person when she’s sober.
Side note: I developed friends in my freshman year of high school, many which I still talk to. Those I were friends with or became friends with probably have no idea how much that all meant to me and still does. I have some friends now, so I’m not all alone. I also have a wonderful boyfriend who loves me for me.
So, this episode (sorry for the very long-winded explanations) has brought up some really old feelings and unresolved issues. I finally made the appointment with the psychiatrist (had to cancel he last one, long story) and am making an appointment with a counselor tomorrow during my lunch to talk to about both my eating habits and my stress/anxiety.
I sincerely didn’t mean to “bum anyone out” by writing this, but it does show you a side of me that is hurting and needs help.
I hope everyone had a safe and Happy Easter.