As a child of divorce, I was wrenched from a father's love and care by my mother and grandmother. Looking back, at all the things I went through as a child, I realize I was a child of abuse - though mental, not physical. My grandmother died when I was twelve, and a great sense of release passed through my body. It wouldn't last long.
After my grandmother's death, my mother began to drink, something I believe she did in the 'closet' for years. It quickly became a problem and I, at the age that I should have been going to dances and slumber parties, was having to run the household and take care of a younger sister. My father was long in the past. Never did he see us after the divorce. I don't know why.
I began my depressive mode, actually, before I was ten, but severely at about thirteen. Then one day, I went to another phase - mania. I spent money like it grew on trees and my affectionate side turned to stone. I became a wild, agitated, queen bitch! No one knew then that this was not normal. It was the 60's, and anything pertaining to mental illness was swept under the rug.
After graduation I took off to Los Angeles, where I immediately took up with a young journalist who interviewed and did articles on rock stars for Rolling Stone and Cheetah magazines. As the years progressed, I ended up back home after one of the worst depressions I had ever had. I just upped and left Tommy without a word. The BIG regret of my life.
The past 30 years of my life have been ones that I have survived. I married and had two little boys. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder in 1996. That describes all the black moods and changing behavior. Now on meds, I live my life normally. No mood changes. Unfortunately, my younger son inherited the
gene and is quite ill.
It took a long time, but I forgive my family for their treatment of me. I must have been a handful, but looking back, I believe both my grandmother and mother to have had a form of mental illness.
Most importantly, however, is the fact that I have finally forgiven myself for not being perfect. I am me, whatever that may be. My Bipolar is part of what makes me me. It took a long time for me to find forgiveness in my heart.
I cannot forgive my mother and grandmother in person, as both are dead, but the knowledge that I can in my heart and maturity have released me of a great burden.
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