10 Things You Should Say To A Depressed Person

Depression

We have all seen the lists of things a person, albeit well-meaning, should never say to a depressed person. We also know that periodically experiencing crippling depression can be a symptom of a relapse into illness.Hopefully, if you have either had Bipolar disorder for a while, or are just very attuned to your mental emotional shifts, you can stop it before it happens. Here is a list of things you CAN say to a depressed person,

1. Can I relieve your stress in any way? Words have very little effect, if any, on a depressed person. In fact, they can twist them around in their minds to make themselves feel even worse. What you can do? Come over and offer to clean up their house or fix them a meal or go out and run some errands for them. These are ways of showing you care about them, and respect that they are experiencing depression. Showing through action that you care is worth all the wasted words in the world.
2. What do you think might help you to feel better? Here again words are important. Especially how you phrase them. According to Psychcentral.com‘s associate editor, Therese Borchand, it is much like dealing with a defiant child. Depressed people are well known for being difficult, as are children when you take their candy away, for example, telling them they will turn into a ghoul if they eat more. What seems to be more effective is to ask the child about something he or she did while under the influence of a sugar rush. Ask them if they want that to happen again. The answer is usually ‘no’ and they will reach for something else entirely. The same goes for a depressed person. Acknowledge their depression, and rephrase questions in such a way that they come up with their own way of feeling better.
3. Is there something I can do for you? Again we have action over words; showing the depressed person that you care about them. This is an excellent time to show compassion. The depressed individual is likely to say no, there is nothing you can do for them, but what does register through the fog and the tears is the thought “This person really cares about me”.
4. Can I drive you somewhere? Here again is action over what may come across to a depressed person as shallow words of pseudo-sympathy (been there, done that). Here is something concrete that you can do for a depressed person. Apparently, people who are depressed are really bad drivers. So, offering to drive them somewhere they need or maybe do not need to go is good for them (they get out of the house for a while and maybe get some grocery shopping done or maybe a pedicure, as my mom once did for me), it is safer for them and all the other really scary drivers out there.
5. Where are you getting your support? This is completely different than asking if they are receiving therapy or attending group meetings either in person or through an online support group. If you ask if they are receiving therapy or some type of support, and they are not, this has the implication that they are too lazy to get help (they are depressed, not lazy. It is hard to do anything in this state let alone secure support). This question is much more proactive. It says, if you are getting help, great! But, if you aren’t, let’s figure out a way that you can get support through a one on one therapist or through a group because the depressed person does need the help/support to help them through this part of their life so they do not feel isolated and one of a kind.
6. You won’t always feel this way. I am a bit ambivalent about this one. Why should I believe someone who is not nor has experienced depression that this will go away? However, it is a simple statement of fact. It doesn’t try to manipulate, it doesn’t try to persuade, and it doesn’t judge the person who is depressed. It simply states that this is not going to last forever, and that can provide that little ray of hope that a depressed person needs to continue on to the next day. Now, whether that day bring a pin-prick of light at the top of your rabbit hole or a semi-trailer bearing down on you remains to be seen.
7. Can you think of anything contributing to your depression?  This is basically a very kind and round about way of getting someone who is depressed to look at what might be causing it. It is a gentle way of saying, “Maybe it is the abusive relationship you are in,” without coming out and saying it. It could be a myriad of different things that is causing the depressed mood. This is a way of getting the person with the low mood to come to their own conclusions about the cause, and consequently, what to do to get rid of the source (we are talking about situational depression, not the kind caused by brain chemical imbalances). This allows the person suffering to come to their own conclusions about what is appropriate for them to do, take accountability for their own action, and not end up blaming someone fro advising them on a course of action that may be entirely wrong.
8. What time of day is hardest for you? This is a question that my psychiatrist and psychologist have both asked me when I have been depressed which is most of the time due to the mixed episode problem. According to Therese J. Borchard, associate editor at http://psychcentral.com/, the most acute times for depression are upon waking (realizing that it is another day, and you will most likely not be happy-go-lucky just because you slept for 8 hours), and at about 3-4 in the afternoon when blood sugar dips and anxiety can set in. This is something anyone close to the depressed person can ask; a parent, a good friend, an extended family member. They can also do something about it when they get the answer; they can call the person experiencing depression when they are at their lowest during the day. For me, personally, I become most depressed at night when everything gets quiet, and everyone has retired to their respective apartments. Since no one thinks to call at night, I often end up reading in bed and then going to sleep so I do not have to deal with the emotions. I know what causes them, and that is not going to change any time soon. During the day, I am fine because I can always find something to do (but neighbors don’t like you vacuuming at midnight 🙂  )
9. I’m here for you. This is a simple statement that carries no hidden meaning whatsoever. It is simple, and lets the depressed know that you are there, you aren’t going anywhere just because they are depressed, it tells them that you get it, that you understand they are going through a rough time, it says you care. It doesn’t imply that you understand; what it does say though is you care, and that you are there to support them.
10. Nothing. My personal favorite. Sometimes, someone to listen is exactly what the depressed need. They do not need advice, they do not need to hear “this is what you SHOULD do”, what they need is attention and someone to hear them and their pain. From the book Kitchen Table Wisdom : “When people are talking, there’s no need to do anything but receive them. Just take them in. Listen to what they’re saying. Care about it. Most times caring about it is even more important than understanding it.” ~ Rachel Naomi Remen.

I wrote this list because I see so many lists about what NOT to say to people who are depressed, mentally ill, etc. that I thought it might be nice to have a list of things that may be helpful to do for or say to someone who’s having a rough time of things.

Blog For Mental Health 2014

I will start with the words of the founder of this project: “I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.” 

About 13 years ago, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder Type I with Psychotic Tendencies, PTSD, ADD, Panic Disorder with and without Agoraphobia, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I already knew about the PTSD. I could have diagnosed myself. I had been suffering from symptoms since I was a few months past my 16th birthday when I was sexually assaulted by my “boyfriend”. I was officially diagnosed when I was 20. I have never received counseling for this event, nor have I talked about it with anyone. Perhaps, that is why the symptoms of PTSD linger. I have become used to the now occasional nightmare, the hyper-alertness, the jumping when someone or a noise startles me; it is just how I live. I have also lived with the anxiety disorders for most of my life. I can remember feeling anxious as far back as age 6. I used to make myself sick because I would become so anxious about something as “simple” as going to school.

The depression that I have suffered since about the same age is what I guess became Bipolar disorder. My paternal grandmother was manic-depressive and brilliant, but abusive as she was more often than not in a manic phase. From what research I have done, I understand that one can be predisposed to the illness. I feel bad for her as she was manic-depressive when there was no such thing, and no treatment for it. Lithium did not become approved for the treatment of manic-depression until 1972, and by then she was displaying the early stages of Alzheimer’s. She was a brilliant woman as so many mentally interesting people are. She was an accomplished oil-painter who did one woman shows at museums around New Mexico. She had a Master’s in Mathematics from SCU. She was one of the most interesting people I have ever known. I sleep underneath a beautiful painting of lilacs every night, and I see it right before I turn out the light and marvel at her ability. I have tried to paint. It is not my milieu. Writing is the one thing I have consistently done well throughout my lifetime. I received my first journal at the age of 12, and have been writing my life, thoughts, opinions, and what not down for over thirty years. 

When I was first diagnosed with manic-depression or Bipolar disorder, I was diagnosed as a type II as my therapist did not feel that I had experienced a full-blown manic episode. She felt that my mania was confined to hypo-mania, but the more I talked, the harder she listened, and she came to believe that what she had initially thought were hypo-manic episodes were, in fact, mild manic episodes. I experienced a lot of bouncing thoughts, I was hyper-sexual, I self-medicated and had done so for many years, I took many risks with my health and relationships, I had no control over money; basically my life was constantly on the brink of complete and utter ruin due to manic behavior. I was also depressed a good deal of the time. Where the psychosis occurred, I have no idea. But, then that is the nature of psychosis; you do not know that you are psychotic. 

I have been hospitalized numerous times both voluntarily because I did not feel safe around myself, and “involuntarily” because others felt I was a danger to myself. I saw many different manifestations of Bipolar disorder, I saw people with Schizophrenia, people who were just psychotic for whatever reason, and I saw people who were simply depressed, had attempted suicide or were afraid that they would. When you are in the hospital, everyone is “crazy” which is a term I really do not like. I do not consider myself or others “crazy”, “nuts” or any other moniker the public chooses to attach to us. What I see are people fighting very hard to maintain some semblance of normalcy in their lives. We know we are different than “normal” people. But, that begs the question, how are “normal” people different from us? There are some pretty odd “normal” people out there. The only difference seems to be they can hide it better than most of us not so normal people can.

So, yes, I have been a frequent flyer at the mental hospital here. I was verging on alcoholism, and when I was drunk, it always seemed a good idea to take all my medication. I had a very difficult time adjusting to the diagnosis. I lost my job, I couldn’t work because the medications they gave me had horrible side effects for me, I couldn’t go to school for the same reasons. As far as I was concerned, my life was over. The only that had to be done was the physical taking of my life. And, every single time I tried, something pulled me back and I would call 911. I have done this somewhere between 11 or 12 times since I was 16, with most of the attempts coming after the diagnosis of Bipolar type 1. Like I said earlier in the paragraph, as far as I was concerned life was over, and the only thing left to do was get rid of the body and the mind.

After I came to grips with my diagnosis, and was on an effective medication plan, I realized how much grief I had put my family through. I do not believe that even at my lowest point that I could rival in feeling how my mother and my father must have felt. They were sure that some day I would succeed and they would lose their first child to a mental disorder. Children are not supposed to die before their parents. Especially when they are in their 30’s. I was an adult, not a child, not a teenager. I should have been able to control it better. Interesting thought I just had. At the time, I felt that my life had fallen apart and I was justified in dying by my own hand. Now, years later, I feel that I should have been able to control myself. I still have Bipolar disorder. I am still medicated, and have been seeing psychiatrists and the same psychologist for over 10 years, yet my statement feeds directly into the stigma that I try so hard to fight. That’s weird. I still have suicidal thoughts, I still wonder if everyone would be better off if I was dead; these thoughts are still with me, yet I feel I should be able to control them. Bipolar is not controlled, it is managed. There is a difference. 

At any rate, this is getting too long. I have not really experienced any real stigma from the outside world; even from people I have told that I do not know well. But, I am very well versed in hiding it when I am in public. The real stigma has come from a corner I would never have seen, and that is my family. My father does not talk to me or see me anymore. It has been 4 years since I have seen him, and the same since I have talked to him. Surprisingly, he called and left a message on my birthday. I did not call him back. He emailed and texted on Christmas. Out of consideration for his efforts I responded albeit rather impersonally. My uncle and his wife have not invited me to any family gathering in a number of years. My cousins don’t know where I live or have a working phone number for me. I am the oldest granddaughter. My last grandmother died last year. She was the glue that held the family together. She never made me feel different. She was very Christian, and believed that God made us exactly the way we were supposed to be. Everyone else, on the other hand, has made me to feel ostracized except my mom and her husband’s family. So, what I would have expected  from society came from a totally blind corner: my family. But, I guess they are part of society, too, and have their own thoughts about mental illness.

Christmas Morning

merry christmas (Photo credit: 1987VIRGOAB)

So, here it is again. Seems like time is getting shorter, or maybe I am just getting older. I woke up early this morning so that I can deal with my mad morning hair, but my cat thinks it is so she can claim my bed. She didn’t even meow Merry Christmas before she took up a spot on the bed which ensures that I will not be able to make it this morning. I am going to have a small Christmas with my mom, her husband, his daughter and her girlfriend this morning. It is interesting the way Christmas has changed over the years, It used to be my sister, my mom, and my father early in the morning followed by trooping over to my grandparent’s houses. In my 20’s, it was my mom’s, then my father’s, then my uncle’s, and finally, my fiance’s parents. It made for a very long, not easily enjoyed Christmas.

My 30’s saw me single, struggling with a diagnosis of manic-depression, very unhappy, and it would be my mom’s and my uncle’s houses, but nobody really knew what to say to me except my grandma, who simply pointed out that we live as well as we can with what we are given. She didn’t say much about anything, but when she did, you listened. It was her that I called when I had my first car accident at 15, and when my kitten was hit by a car when I was 18. I miss her very much. Much more so this year than last when the reality of her death had not yet really set in. I do not remember Christmas last year. I think my mom and her husband were out of town leaving me at loose ends with my failing marriage to try and make Christmas happen. I was not really in a Christmasy spirit last year.

My 40’s find me single again (small sigh of relief; my marriage was a very unhealthy place for me). I do not wish him any ill-will, and hope he has found a way to celebrate Christmas. Christmas may not be a traditional “family” affair this year, but it seems somehow better. I remember the first time my “step”-sister brought her girlfriend to Christmas or maybe Thanksgiving, and how stressed out her father was to have his fears about her orientation confirmed. I had known for years, and I think he had too, but he struggled with it. It has been really interesting and heartwarming watching him come to terms with it, and make his his peace (without, I might add, becoming one of those parents who cannot handle his child’s life). She is a wonderful, lively, highly intelligent young woman.

My mom has hit another milestone birthday having turned 70 about three weeks ago, and she is coping with the loss of her mother last year. For myself, I am coming to terms with the idea that my father either doesn’t really care how I am, or cannot handle what I have. His solution to most problems has been to throw money at it; he has never been able to handle emotion. I am newly divorced, and have decided that I do not think I will try that again. It is just too difficult to find that rare combination of person who can handle the good times, the not so good times, and the psychotic times. Although, our postman is awfully cute, about my age, and I see no ring 🙂

So, I think this Christmas will do. It is my first being over the shock of my grandma, the first where I didn’t get all OCD about checking the mail for a card from my father; normally I would check the mail 3-4 times everyday looking for the card I knew wasn’t coming. I just knew this year it wasn’t coming. Not even a card on the annoyingly impersonal University of North Dakota’s presidential stationery. I met my “step”-sister’s newish girlfriend yesterday. She seemed very nice. So, as nontraditional as my current family is, at least I know Christmas will be spent with a super blended family that suits me fine. 

There is no judgment in this family. My “step” father has OCD, is high anxiety, and is a recovering alcoholic of thirty plus years, my mom has been stellar in her understanding of my strange moods and whims, my “step” sister is adopted and gay, so I think there is room for a manic-depressive. It is a motley crew, but there is love and understanding, and that, in my opinion, is what makes a family,

I hope that everyone finds a way to celebrate this day whether they are alone, married, with a partner, divorced, disenfranchised, estranged, or any other condition people find themselves in…….

Okay So I Am On An Old Childhood Song Kick Today

Cover of The Beatles (The White Album)

 

I tend to have better memories of my “formative” years before things got all weird in my family, and between me and my Dad through music and the lyrics. I am in a reminiscing mode. Sorry  🙂 My Dad loved the Beatles, and I happen to really like The White Album, so here we have “Dear Prudence”

 

Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It’s beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play

Dear Prudence open up your eyes
Dear Prudence see the sunny skies
The wind is low the birds will sing
That you are part of everything
Dear Prudence won’t you open up your eyes?

Look around round
Look around round round
Look around

Dear Prudence let me see you smile
Dear Prudence like a little child
The clouds will be a daisy chain
So let me see you smile again
Dear Prudence won’t you let me see you smile?

Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
The sun is up, the sky is blue
It’s beautiful and so are you
Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play

 

When All Else Fails, Give Yourself A Manicure

English: Fun day out with Granddad Two happy children and their grandfather run through thick snow just inside the entrance to Ickworth Park, at Horringer. Behind is the parish church of the village, St Leonard’s. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What a way to start the holiday season. My grandma (mother’s mom) has been slowly declining in health for some time now. She was getting tired often, had very little appetite, lived alone, and had congestive heart failure. She was on a number of medications for high blood pressure, a diuretic for water retention, cumidin to thin her blood. Common medications for people with blood pressure problems, and very common among older people. But, she was hanging in there despite the fact that my Granddad (her husband of 50 years) had passed away in 1985; also in November. In fact, it was November 5th, 1985. I was 14 so even though I understood I would never see him in physical form again, I think I was too young to process his rather sudden death. I did not cry for his passing until I was 18, and it really hit me one day that this headstrong, opinionated, bull-headed man who had helped my parents take care of my sister and myself was really gone. 

Due to a medication (Oxycodone) that my grandma had to take for pain due to a fracture in one of her vertebrae, my grandma could no longer be left alone, especially at night. So, the decision was made to move her into a hospice where someone would be available around the clock. She was moved out of the house where she had lived for as far back as I can remember (and I have a memory like an elephant), the house where she had raised two of her four children, where she and my Granddad would baby sit me and my sister if my parents wanted to take a vacation sans children, where I remember big Thanksgiving dinners, and many Christmases. I remember that she and my granddad were married on the 4th of July, and every year the whole family would get together for food and fireworks. She kept a lunchbox with toys in it in the hall closet, and even though I knew perfectly well where to find it, I would always ask, and she’d tell me it was off yonder. If it weren’t for her, I would have no idea where yonder is. Not that it is a specific place, but I will always know where yonder is thanks to her. She was a very strong woman, said very little but when she did speak, you listened. Believe me you listened. She was keenly observant of everything going on around her. It was really hard to slip under her radar. She never thought of herself as a smart person like my father’s mother who had a Bachelor’s In Mathematics from USC and was a brilliant oil painter. She felt that her life had been wasted because she wasn’t as educated as my other grandmother. She also wasn’t nuts like my other grandmother (she had untreated Manic Depression, thanks for the genes.) What she failed to realize was that she had the hardest, most rewarding and painful, most important job on the planet. She was a mother. And, judging by the way my aunt and mom and one uncle turned out, she did a damn fine job of raising her children. but, she couldn’t see that being a parent, especially a mother is the most important thing that someone can do with their lives. She may not have smiled as often as she should have, and I do not think I ever heard her laugh. Maybe, I did and I do not remember. 

When I had my first car accident and could not find my parents (I was about 15), I called her, and she and my Uncle Steve came to get me. I remember being about 18, and living in my very first apartment. I had a kitten named Faustus. One day, I came home from work and I couldn’t find my kitten. She had somehow slipped out when I left that day. I finally located my kitten and she was covered in oil, holding one hind leg up, missing the fur on her ears and eyelids. She had either been in someone’s engine or she narrowly missed getting squashed by a car. It didn’t really matter. She was alive, but hurt badly. I had no money to take her to the pet ER, and I tried my parents (once again), but my Dad was out of town and my mother was working or something. I couldn’t find them so once again I called my grandma. I needed $80 to take my kitten to the vet. Now, my grandma never liked pets; they were messy, but she just happened to have the money that I needed to take my kitten in. I drove to her house holding my injured Faustus, and tried to operate a standard transmission with one hand. That’s a trick. So, she gave me the money and told me to come back for dinner when they were done with my kitten. The vets had sedated my cat and put her in a box. Even though I can’t remember there ever being an animal in her house, she let me bring my very groggy little kitten in to her house in the box. It turned out that my cat’s hind leg was completely severed at the joint. But, even though she had no use for pets, she still let me bring my cat in the house because it was winter time, it was night, and it was cold. I can still see her in her house that night. She always had this way of making everything warm and alright, even if every thing was wrong. She was probably one of the people on this planet that I respected and loved unconditionally. I always knew I could count on her for help, and if it was within her power to do so, she would help. She used to make me gifts of canned and dry goods because she knew that I was struggling financially and she had grown up during the Depression so she knew what being dirt poor was like. She was funny like that. She gave of herself and never expected anything in return.

She was such a strong, dignified, dedicated, and loving person. I feel like I was privileged to be born to her daughter. She taught me so much about inner strength, and just dealing with the situation as it was. There was not any thing else to do, and in her own, very quiet way, she passed that value along to her children, and her grand children, and her great grand children even though they won’t be able to remember much about her. They are all very young; about the same age as my cousins were when granddad died. If I was 14, then my oldest cousin would have been about 9. The great-grandchildren (except my sister’s) are all much younger than that. They will never really know how this woman in her quiet but thoughtful way taught her children and grandchildren how to live life. 

Life was never easy for her and my granddad. They had four children and he worked construction jobs, and she took in people’s ironing and laundry to help make the ends meet. The family would move to where ever there was work for my granddad. It could not have been easy, but she went through life never complaining. She just accepted what was, and had faith that it would get better, and she got through it. I think people born in the early part of the 20th century had more strength to live life on life’s terms than those of us born later in the century. We all want it fixed or done now. We are a generation of people who want instant gratification, but there is so much more character and dignity and grace in learning how to live life no matter what gets thrown at you. 

My family lost some one very special today. It does not matter one bit if she did not go to college, or was a brilliant painter or writer. She was a role model for how to live life on life’s terms. You do what you need to do in order to live no matter how menial it may seem. You raise your children to respect their elders, you raise them to respect people from all walks of life, to have compassion when someone is struggling, and to love and give without expecting anything in return. This is what she left my parents and her other children with. And, in their own ways they passed on what my grandma and my granddad taught them. Work hard, love and appreciate your family and friends, have thanks for what you do have instead of constantly yearning for what you do not have. Sometimes, no matter how hard it may seem, life may be all that you have. I know how important life is. Even as a treated Bipolar, I have tried several times to take my life, but I always clung to life in the end and would call 911. Apparently, I am not ready to die yet. 

This was a woman who accepted me for who I am, the things I have been, and loved me anyway. She weathered the drug abuse, the drinking, the mental illness that makes me so moody, all the things that my own mother had to cope with as well. I wish now (20/20 hindsight) that I had taken more time to find out about her. I always meant to, but somehow never got around to it. I guess I thought she would still be here when I finally had grown up enough to see how amazing she was. I thought she would live forever, I guess. Magical thinking on my part, but when you are in your 20s and 30s, you still have this notion that you’ll never get old and neither will the people around you. But, that isn’t the way it works.

You hit 40, and you realize that time does not stop because you want it to. You age, and so does everyone around you. You come to realize that time will continue and you will age and so will those you love. You are born, you live your life to the best of your ability, and then you become old and eventually everyone dies. It is a cycle that never ends. Life will always lead to death. It is what you do and how you treat others in between that matters. My grandma understood that with her heart, and as a result, was an incredible person. I will miss her dearly. She was like my other mom. I only hope that I can continue to improve myself so that I am like her when I am old, and I can die with no regrets. Why she loved me so dearly, I will never know. But, I am glad she did. Even though I am the odd one out in the family. When life becomes really stressful, just paint your nails, dye your hair that color you always wanted, try a different color of eye shadow, soak in the tub, but above all, be nice to yourself and others. Good night, Grandma.

Velma Pauline Hatfield Varley: born 9/6/1915 and died 11/17/2012. 

Has This Ever Happened To You?

 

Deutsch: Yin Yang (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever just lost someone but you do not know when and where? It is so confusing. One minute this person is a part of your life, and one day, you wake up and they’re gone (either in body or spirit or both). It is usually someone significant to you in some way, shape, or form like a significant other, or a parent, or a close friend.

Well, the other day while at my therapist, we were discussing the concept of loss. I was mentioning a few people that I have lost over the years (but I knew they were gone), and she said very quietly, “Your father.” He hasn’t sent a Christmas card for several years or a birthday card. 

I started to notice about three or four years ago that there seemed to be a misunderstanding on his end about the nature of this illness. He seems to think it can be cured, but all it really does is hide behind highly and very finely tweaked medication. He had been helping me out financially with insurance costs and Medicare and co- payments. In fact, he had been sending much more than I actually needed. Now he has simply reduced the amount to the point where it covers Medicare and the insurance premium and one psychiatrist visit and one therapist visit.

What I cannot figure out is if I lost him due to the illness or because I did not turn out the way he expected his first born child would turn out. All i know is that having thought about it for some time now, i think I lost him a long time ago while I was still a teenager. At some point, I must have disappointed him greatly by either not accomplishing something, the friends I chose for myself, my tendency toward self-medication, or something. What matters to me is I cannot pin down when I lost him. What really matters is that I did lose him.

I do not know what I did to deserve being cut out of my father’s life. He and my mother split up when I was around 19 or 20. He had been having an affair (not to mention he abused alcohol the same way I did drugs, so if that was the reason, it sure is hypocritical) for about 6 years with another married woman. They both divorced and married each other before the ink was dry. So, he is no saint either although he would definitely have you believe differently.

The only solid reason I can come up with is that he was raised primarily as an only child (my aunt is 14 years his senior) by an untreated, undiagnosed Manic Depressive, and i remind him of her. Or, it could stem from an incident when I was 18 months old, yes you read that right, and I told him I hated him. How can an 18 month old child understand the concept of hate? They haven’t even gotten around to “like” yet. You can only understand one if you have experienced the other. It is Yin and Yang. Dark with light, happy with sad, night with day. The world is a dichotomy. So, apparently, he took this to heart, or so I have been told. I have also been told in my younger years that I reminded family members of her. I do not think they meant it as a compliment.

So, I have been very confused about why my dad abandoned me so late in life. Most of the time, fathers take off when the kids are young. But, I suspect the feelings are the similar. You wonder what you did or didn’t do, what you didn’t do well enough, you wonder if it was just you being, you wonder, why they left, you are hurt and angry all at the same time and this, unfortunately, can carry over into other relationships. You’ll sabotage a perfectly good relationship just so you can leave first, and not be the one who gets left. I have done this just so I don’t have to deal with abandonment issues (thanks Dad). You end up with the attitude that everyone will leave you sooner or later. It is not just in your mind, it is in your heart, especially if you were left with no real reason as to why you were abandoned. You just know you have been, and that it hurts and makes you angry. This is why some kids act out, others withdraw, adults will throw themselves into their work. If you have work to throw yourself into. If you don’t, you blog 🙂

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I acted out because I was a very unhappy child, and later, a very unhappy teen. Maybe that’s why he left me emotionally (he is into emotionally damaging people). This is not to say he did not do his best, I am sure he did. He just could not get a grip on me. If you told me something was one way, I’d tell you it was exactly the opposite mainly to annoy you and amuse myself. Then, when I was a young teenager, something very nasty happened to me, and I became impossible to control. I would take off for days at a time, I tried to run away from home at least three times, I began to run with an older crowd (mainly Deadheads and hippie types), I began to use drugs. i was impossible, and I was uncontrollable, and my father really does not like people to be out of his control. Maybe that’s it. I don’t know. I just know it hurts to know my father took off emotionally for no legitimate reason that I can think of. Except maybe that I am Manic Depressive, and he just cannot handle it. Which is stupid. He doesn’t even live in the state, so he doesn’t have to deal with it. I do, and my mother does, and my husband does. Or, maybe he’s just an asshole. That would be a pretty simple, down and dirty assessment.