I come from a family with a heavy amount of mental illness. My mother is bipolar. My grandmother is bipolar. She had a brother and father who were both schizophrenic. She was sexually abused by her father. She has had problems with pain pills her entire life even taking them while pregnant with my mother trying to kill herself. Her postpartum depression got so bad that my grandfather had her committed to a mental hospital where she underwent electroshock therapy. She had two other brothers that suffered from mental illness and died by suicide. I've found it hard to navigate my feelings for my family members and have self-debated my right to set boundaries especially in relationships that have caused me severe emotional harm throughout my life. My mom in particular has been emotionally abusive to me my entire life, abused alcohol, and has brought major divide in our household and extended family. The words below are the result of putting pen to paper about my feelings as I feel like I can't be honest about this with friends and my boyfriend. More because I don't think they could ever understand. **Please note that these are just my unfiltered thoughts and feelings. I do recognize that my family suffers from real illnesses and I would never wish harm upon them. I have empathy for them and want the best for them but I also want to be happy myself.**

Torn. Torn between feeling responsible, between feeling like I’m sacrificing my own well being to avoid causing pain to those who have caused harm to me, between being angry at another let down... when all I want is to be validated in my belief that people in my life actually love me and care about me. That someone could consider my feelings for once.  Validated in wanting better for them and believing that this time they’ll be different. Validated for feeling empathetic. Validated in my own anger and hurt by the things they’ve done and said to me. Validated in that time I kicked a hole in my mothers door because she was drunk and in bed at 6pm. Validated in feeling abandoned and deprioritized. Torn between wanting to love them and hating them. 

Worried. Worried that I’ll be like them. Worried that my genetics carry the same "fate". The addiction. The mental illness. The inability to think and communicate rationally at times. The inability to treat others with consistent kindness and respect. I feel like I don’t have room to slip up. They’ll say “she’s just like her mother” or “she’s just like her grandmother”. And if they don’t say it they’ll think it. 

Guilty. Guilty of not calling, of not allowing them access to my emotions, of not feeling anything for them. Guilty of cutting them out of my life to protect myself. Guilty of making jokes about it to avoid feeling real pain, real sadness, real disappointment. Guilty for falling out of love with my own family. 

Embarrassed. Embarrassed to expose my family to others that will never understand. They’ll say “oh I’m sorry” “oh everyone has family issues”. But they don’t get it. They don’t know this level of fucked up. They are not fluent in fucked up. They’ll express sympathy but they will never truly get me or the random bouts of sadness I feel. The bouts of sadness I feel when my friends talk about healthy mother daughter relationships, about grandmothers that offer love and warm embraces, about having a home that is a safe place to be vulnerable. Embarrassed that my mother irrationally lashes out at me and others. Embarrassed looking back at my friends commenting on how weird it was that the night before my mother was yelling at us and the next morning cooking pancakes.  Embarrassed that I’m just now realizing why my mother was never friends with my friends mothers. Embarrassed to think about all the times I might have not been present or old enough realize the reality. 

Tired. Tired of feeling responsible for cleaning up my mothers mess. Tired of apologizing on her behalf. Tired of forgiving her for the same mistakes. Tired of the way she goes for my jugular and then pretends it was a finger prick or that it didn't happen at all. She calls me miserable. She minimizes and denies the pain and abuse her and her family have put me through.