Trying to help my child to understand that pain isn’t always bad. Beautiful things can come from pain. That might be a lesson I cannot teach him. Tonight I sit here recovering from my latest manic episode. I had to force myself to calm down. I sometimes hate that this IS my life. I can’t fix what is broken. I have to hope that God can keep on using my broken pieces for some purpose. I don’t have to understand. The hardest part lately has just been the daily struggle to feel a little bit of joy. I felt like I was trying to run in the swimming pool. Accomplishing nothing I kept waisting energy. The moment I tried to improve what was pulling me down, the task itself threw me into a manic overload. Now I sit in the forced calm knowing I probably won’t finish anything. This is hard. I shut people out because they cannot handle the reality that is my life. Because I have to protect myself from being hurt all over again. That means little or No support. That makes the isolation larger. I am trying to repair my fractured faith. I pray every day. I want to believe that God is still greater. That He won’t drop me like everyone else does. I will cry to Him in the darkest as I always do. He is still here. I am being melodramatic because it helps me calm down my mind to empty it all out. When things are overloaded, I need to release the pressure. I know there are people out there who DO understand exactly what I am saying. I saw comment someone made about a bipolar family member creating a toxic environment. It makes me a bit paranoid to think it may be hopeless. That we who struggle this disease (yes,I am calling it a disease), can do the therapy, take the pills, and still be considered toxic. But truth, no one is calling me toxic. That’s my paranoia talking. Most of the time that happens when people are off their medication. It kind seems like having the mind of a baby. They get overstimulated and end up in tears. Maybe our brains are just not processing information correctly. Okay tired now. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.
As a kid I watched my parents fight about different things. I don't really have any other parents to compare them to so I can't really say whether they were normal fights couples have or not. I couldn't even say what most of them were about except the ones that were about me. We only ate as a family on holidays. My father came home late so we kids ate without him. I do remember spending time with him in the evening before I went to bed so it couldn't have been that late. My own husband gets home a little later because of his job commute so we eat late every night. But home schooling has given us the ability to be more flexible than my Mom was able to be. We had school early the next day. As I got older, I remember my Father being home less and less and the fights seemed to intensify. I remember one night when I was thirteen. I could hear them yelling through the wall. My mom found me crying and I told her I didn't want them to get a divorce. She told me...
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