It’s tough when you find out your parents were mentally ill #bipolar #schizophrenia #depressiom

Both my parents died a long time ago. It’s been 25 years since my father died. I don’t know a lot about him. Today my brother told me that he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and was manic depressive. Obviously they call that bipolar now. I didn’t know this about my dad. I remember him “going away” for a while. I thought he went to dry out. Turns out he had a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know that either.

I don’t know what mental illnesses are inheritable and which ones aren’t and honestly I’m too tired to look on the internet right now. I guess I’m in shock. It’s hard learning new things about your parents when you are 43. My brother said that he has paperwork that states those diagnosis.

I guess I am amazed that I’m not more messed up than I am. I don’t know how to process this. I’ll bring it up with my therapist.


It’s so hard when everybody is dead. What do you do when life = pain #depression #death

In group last night we talked about death. I should say that other people talked about death and I was triggered. I lost both my parents when I was young. One when I was in high school and the other when I was in my 20s. They both died from alcohol abuse. Alcohol use, abuse…what’s the difference.

My mother died from cirrhosis of the liver. When we cleaned out her apartment we found so many empty vodka bottles hidden around her house. She lived alone. Why the hell did she hide her bottles. She could have thrown them away in a black trash bag and no one would have known. Instead she was so deep in her addiction that she had to hide them. Even from herself. She was only 55 when she died alone, on the floor of her apartment.

My father died while I was in high school. I knew something was wrong. We didn’t see him much those days. My parents were divorced and we were teenagers so dinner with good ole dad wasn’t high on our list of things we wanted to do. We went to dinner with him and he looked like a skeleton. He looked anorexic. We asked him what the hell was going on. We could tell that something was wrong. He blamed it on his new dentures. He should have blamed it on his drinking.

He died, alone in his apartment. He was only found when his neighbors stated to smell his rotting corpse. The idea horrifies me. How long was he lying there dead? How long does a body take to smell that badly? It was April so it wasn’t hot or cold. I can’t get it out of my head that he just died there and wasn’t found until he smelled.

My parents were not good parents. They were both very wrapped up in themselves and didn’t have a lot of time for my brother and me. It felt like we were just left to raise ourselves. There were so many times that I needed a parent and my parents were never there. Not when they were alive and obviously not when they were dead.

They divorced when I was 9. It was horrible. They used us in every way possible to get at each other. All of those rules of what you aren’t supposed to do to your kids during a divorce…my parents did just the opposite. They played us against each other. They put us in the middle of their fight. They yelled at us and blamed us if they thought we were on the wrong “side”. I got this treatment the most. My brother would just play the sides. Whomever he was with was who he agreed with. I couldn’t do that. I was so angry. I hated being used.

We used to have to spend every weekend at my father’s apartment. I hated it. My father moved every year so we never got to know any of the kids in the area. I always hated those visits. I hated being forced to be there. We were always so bored. Unless my father got really drunk. Which he did often. There were times when it was so bad that we would call our mother because we were scared. She loved that. She loved having that ammunition against him. When she picked us up he would follow us out of the apartment screaming at us and screaming at her. Calling her a whore, a cunt… It was terrifying for me.

Then he died. When I was at my father’s funeral I asked my brother how long he thought mom would live. I knew that alcohol was going to take her too. It did, ten years later she died.

My brother and I never got along. We fought constantly as kids. He was pretty violent with me when we were kids. He had such a bad temper. He punched a hole in my bedroom door once when I was a teenager. When I complained to my parents about being beat up or him attacking me I got blamed. “Why do you instigate with him?” “Just leave him alone.” As I was bleeding. They never protected me from anything.

I still react so poorly to the whole thing. I don’t know how to come to terms with it. I hurt, and I still hurt that they never loved me like they should have. I guess that’s why I got so triggered in group last night. I’m still angry about my parents. I don’t know how to let go. I don’t know how to move on.

Fear of sexual #assault, knew something would happen – new blog post

I have a friend who’s boyfriend, now fiance, has always made me uncomfortable. He drinks and when he drinks he makes innapropriate comments. He’s always asking me why I don’t drink more when I am at their house and as he gets drunker he starts asking to see, in his words, my tits. When I don’t comply he says it’s because I don’t like him. I had a stepfather when I was a teenager who crossed boundries all the time and my friends fiance totally triggers me back to those feelings of my stepfather. I actually had stopped spending time at my friends house because I was afraid that one day he would take his agressive behavior too far.

Last night another one of my friends told me that he assaulted her. He was really drunk and he was all over her. My friend was in another room. She nicely tried to push him away for 45 minutes! Finally he ended up putting his hand down her pants. When she told me this I felt so sick. She made him leave the room at this point but the damage had been done. I always knew he would go too far. That’s why I stopped going to my friend’s house. I love her dearly and we don’t know what to do. They are engaged and I’m afraid of him.

My friend doesn’t want to say anythng. She doesn’t want to hurt our other friend’s feelings. I really think my friend needs to tell our other friend what happened. Sadly I don’t think it will change anything. She’s a beautiful person and I love her but she’s so enmeshed with this guy that I think she’ll just explain his behavior away because he was drunk. Being drunk is no excuse for that.

I’m so unhappy. I love my friends so much. I knew something bad was going to happen. I really knew it. It’s why I have been avoiding this guy for so long.

The whole thing makes me so sad. I love my friend and I want the best for her. I don’t know what we should do.

#PTSD or something else? #suicide

I haven’t written in a while, I had a really rough night at group back on the 23rd and I’ve been holding back writing about it. One of the guys in the group was talking about his recent break up. He was talking about his isolation, how alone he felt. He was worried that he would be alone, that he wouldn’t be able to find someone. This is a young, good looking guy. I’m an overweight, unattractive middle-age woman. I could feel his feelings. It was overwhelming me, I had started the night in a good place but these feelings began to pull me down.

Dr. G asked me what was going on and for some reason the events that lead up to my only suicide attempt were on my mind. I told the story of giving up everything then moving half way across the country to be with someone only to be dumped. I was stranded, I was behind on all my bills. I was so many miles from home and my car was going to be reposesed. I called so many people, they tell you when you are feeling suicidal to ask for help. I asked everyone I knew for help. I was lost and I didn’t know what to do. I was living in the backroom of a woman’s house I barely knew because she felt bad for me after the break up. I was so alone, I felt so isolated and there was no one who could help me. It sounds so weak now, but back then I was so overwhelmed. I ended up drinking a 6 pack of beer and taking 60 sleeping pills. I didn’t know you could survive after taking 60 sleeping pills. I meant to die. This wasn’t a cry for help. This was the only way out that I could find.

Obviously I didn’t die but the pain of that experience was teriible. The next day I ended up having a panic attack. I fell back into the same hole. It was awful. I’ve never had a panic attack before.

Yesterday I told my therapist about the incident about how isolated I felt, how hopeless. I feel that way a lot these days. The isolation is always hanging over me. Even when people are around me I struggle with the idea that it will end too soon and then I’ll be alone again.

Tomorrow is mother’s day. It’s a doubly painful day for me. My relationship with my mother was horrible. She didn’t protect me from my stepfather, she wasn’t there. Her alcoholism was so bad that I despised being around her or even talking to her on the phone because she was always drunk. My relationship with my own kids is rough because I feel like such a horrible parent. Their special needs are so intense and my emotional state is so bad right now that I’m struggling to be there for them. I’m feeling it from both sides.

I just want to crawl in bed and give up this weekend. I already slept too much today and my dreams were very disturbing – no help there.

Sexually abused at the age of five

Warning, may be triggering

It’s hard to talk about the past. Even more so to post it on the internet for the world to read. The only source of bravery I have is to hide behind the anonymity of the internet. I don’t share this blog with people who know me. There is still the huge stigma that is part of having been sexually abused even though I was only five years old the first time it happened. There is also the stigma of having mental health issues even though there are so many people that struggle with them.

I was around five, the truth is I’m not sure exactly how old I was, when I was first molested. The memory is small and I do worry that there is more that I don’t remember than that I do remember. He was babysitting my brother and me. In my memories for a long time I thought of him as a full grown man but in retrospect I’ve realized that he was probably just a teenager. I’m not sure where my brother was, our house wasn’t that big, while Mark was in my room with me. He was laying on my bed and he had his jeans unzipped. He had pulled his penis out of his pants and he had an erection. He was holding my hand and placing it on his erection using his own hand to cause mine to stroke him. I remember telling him that I wanted to stop, that I didn’t like it. He kept saying, “Come on, it will be fun.” I was so unhappy and so uncomfortable. I knew it was wrong that I was touching him but he kept that hold on my hand. I can picture my small hand on his penis. It’s a very powerful image. His erection looked so large compared to my little hand. It’s weird that image is stuck in my head. I don’t have any other memories of my own hands when I was small.

My memory ends there. I don’t know if anything else happened or even if it happened more than once. That does worry me. I didn’t tell anyone, I felt like I had done something wrong and thought I would be punished. I also felt very ashamed.

I don’t even remember if he ever babysat for us again. It’s like my mind decided that it didn’t want more information.