Thursday, September 5, 2013

I Want To Want You/Living With Bi-Polar Family Members

Dear Diary, ^This is really, really funny.

A lot of girls want a boyfriend. They want to feel needed (to fill a void). Some girls get lonely often, so they need a guy to comfort them. Some girls go crazy over a guy, wanting him so bad it hurts.
For me personally, I have a certain numbness in my heart that isn't easily shaken. Sometimes I seem like I'm really falling for this guy or another, but when it comes down to it, I just want to feel like there's something that is of value, of the risk, within the capacity to stand the test of time. Though I don't act like it whatsoever, I am an authentic existentialist at heart. It's hard for me accept that anything actually matters and I often ponder about how small and meaningless everything truly is in a person's lifetime. I choose to take this as positive as I can though, soaking in scenic views and appreciating the kindness that people show to each other, when I know that actual attachment to anything will do nothing but let you down.  
I can go back to my twelve-year old self and relive what my mom did to me to make me feel helpless as an adult woman now. Flashback time? I guess so.
When I was about twelve, a young kid with a positive energy and sentimental attachment to certain things because of the constantly changing home-life I had with divorced parents and all, I used to collect a few toys and trinkets that gave me happy memories. Even though the house was a fucking mess with my mother and grandmother borderline pack-rats when it came to food and random items, I had one desk that I would do homework on and on my desk I would neatly organize all the items I owned of worth to me. It was a table of friendship bracelets I had hand-made or gotten from friends, small ceramic pots and other crafts from school, necklaces from my dad, little art projects I created with my older brother which gave me hope for happy memories in the future (my favorite: "my first boat that I built" made of cardboard, a straw, and a triangle-cut white paper). I lined up everything I cared about and the table allowed me to feel a serene sense of control and organization in a fucking messy life. My mother has bi-polar disorder and does not see a doctor to treat it, though she had been medically diagnosed by a therapist whom my brother was seeing in high school. My brother has type 1 bi-polar disorder, mild depression, ADHD, and anxiety issues, yet, he is the best guy I've ever known and you'd never believe that he has any mental illnesses if you just talked to him or spent time around him. Bi-polar disorder gives its receivers manic episodes of extreme emotions, usually triggered by high stress and it usually comes out in people in their mid-20's or late teens. As a girl growing up feeling out of place pretty much all of the time, I would verbally fight with my mother to no end. We pretty much hated each other until I turned 17 and learned to get away from her when she gets emotional. My mother actually said to me before that she would, "get possessed by the devil," or that she would have blind, black-out kind of anger where she literally cannot control her actions because she is just so angry and cannot help but to do terrible things. One time she grabbed a scarf my thirteen-year old self was wearing and she held it place for a few seconds, wherein I couldn't breath. Then she drove me to school. I had nightmares that she would kill me for years after, and once in a while I still do. I can't even count the number of times she took all my shit, loaded it in a car and drove my crying, confused 10-year-old ass to my dad's house as she repeats how I don't love her and that she can't handle me any more, hates me, calls me stupid, lazy, bitchy, selfish, hopes that I become homeless with nothing of my own one day, only to pick me up from my dad's house the next day with apologies. With her violent mood swings and my dead-beat drunken and gamble-addict of a father, I doubt I would have made it through high school without my older brother, the most sane one in my life. Anyway, when my mom would get her "blind rage" type of episodes, she would throw everything off of my precious desk at me or on the floor in front of me, breaking and shattering all of my treasured possessions. I would sob and ask why she would do that to me and I'd basically get sweared out every time.
At some point, I stopped putting things I liked on the desk. I've had problems being opinionated about things I admire ever since.

-That Girl, wanting to want somebody.
On the bright side of my life, Ender's Game is about to be a movie!

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