I wonder who the first person to have bipolar disorder was, and when they were alive. I mean even before there was a diagnosis for it. I wonder how other people treated that person. We are treated badly enough today, even with as much information as there is available to read. Was that person sent away to live in solitude? Were they burned alive? What was the culture and religion of that time and place? Was that person as creative as many bipolar individuals of today are? Are some of the cave drawings found by archeologists his/hers?
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I wish I could be Judge Judy for one day. I would love to sit there and tell the stupid people off.
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For some reason I cannot remember second grade. I can remember my parents bringing my sister home from the hospital after she was born, and I was not quite 2 years old. I can remember kindergarten and first grade, and third grade and beyond. Although I'm curious as to what happened in second grade, I still hate it when people bitch about having a bad memory. I wish I could forget some of the shit that has happened to me. Time does not heal anything. Time can only put a scar over the wound. Sometimes only a scab. And unfortunately it's in my nature to pick at scabs and cut open scars, even unintentionally. My mind does not let go of things, and my body does not stop feeling the pain. That doesn't mean that I'm just going to roll over and let life kick my ass, but I still have to deal with it and live with it. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". Sometimes. But sometimes you wish that those things had killed you. I'm capable of forgiving, but I don't seem capable of forgetting.
When I was eighteen, my mom and I didn't get along. So after a particularly nasty argument, I left a note explaining that I was going to stay with a friend for a few days so that we could have some time away from each other. That was on a Friday night. The next Thursday, I ran into my mom in the grocery store. She started crying and begged me to come home. So I went home. I went to check on my dog; she wasn't there. I asked my mom if she ran away, or if she had taken her to the pound. "No, I had your dad shoot her. You weren't here to take care of her". Huh? Seriously? WTF? So I said to hell with you, and went upstairs to get the rest of my things from my room. It had been repainted and my brother's things were in there. My things were boxed up and piled in the hallway. I started to grab some boxes and my mom stopped me and said that as the owner of the house, she had the rights to any property I had left behind when I had "moved out". Again, WTF?
So I left. I moved in with some stupid guy I barely knew so I wouldn't have to sleep in my car...I had overstayed my welcome at my other friend's house. He left me after 2 weeks. I couldn't afford rent by myself so my cousin moved in. He left for work every morning. When rent was due, I went down to pay my half after my cousin told me he had paid his half. The landlord told me that he had not paid her anything. So I asked him about it...he started crying and said he didn't really have a job, he just needed a place to live and he was pretending to leave for work every morning. Kicked him out. Got a loan from one of my uncles.
A girl from work moved in with me. Things were fine for about a month, until we both got our hours cut in half at work. I had to beg my mom to let me move back in. The stress of living there got to me in less than a month and I was hospitalized. Got falsely diagnosed as an alcoholic because I drank occasionally. Got put into treatment. Tried to commit suicide. Kept denying that I was an alcoholic (um...because I wasn't, which was later confirmed by another doctor). Got put into a half-way house for 3 months. Finally got to leave, but I couldn't work and while I was waiting to be approved for disability I had to go back and live with good ol' mom and dad. Got my first disability check in October of 1995 and moved an hour away from my family the next day.
My parents have both changed dramatically since then (for the better); they are like totally different people now. But all of that shit still hurts. I think it always will.
Well, enough tripping down memory lane for now...more fun stories to come ;o)
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