THIS is the email I sent my mother this morning...... One of the reasons I invited you to New Orleans is that I need help with driving.  I thought you wouldn't mind since you get a free trip to New Orleans.  But when I ask for help you seem to resent it. (i.e. taking Lucy to Jessica's).   Maybe you pretend to yourself that I'm not sick...or not as sick as I think I am.  Maybe you do that so you don't have to feel worried about me.  That makes sense - However, pretending that I am not sick has the effect of making me feel that you think I am a hypochondriac or a malingerer.  So on top of fatigue and pain, I get very little help and no matter how much effort, perseverance and courage I show in the face of a serious illness you seem to treat me like I'm just not trying hard enough.  It adds an extra burden to an already difficult existance.  There are days that I eat cereal three meals in a row just because I don't have the energy to fix anything else.  SURE I can do anything when I take narcotics...but I'm committed to avoiding addiction.  Most of the time when you see me, I'm on vicodin so maybe that's why you think I'm not really sick.I also don't think you admit to yourself that I'm bipolar...how do you think that makes me feel?  I'm spending $300 a month on psychotropic meds just so I can ...what? Enjoy the special attention?  I actively tell people I'm bipolar because I'm committed to awareness of mental health issues and fighting stereotypes.  No, I've never been hospitalized...but do you think leaving my husband and moving in with someone else in 24 hours, as well as announcing via personal letter to my mother, father and grandmother how great this idea was - do you think that a sane person does that sort of thing?  You've got no idea how much self discipline I've exerted to support myself financially and stay independent when my mind takes wild vacations to crazy places without warning.  The meds have been a Godsend, but I still cycle up and down.  I try not to bother you with it.  I get support from my friends instead.  But I would appreciate if you would take some time to educate yourself on my condition.So here is what I need from you:  If you decide to come with me to New Orleans I need you to be 100% on my side.  I don't need a servant, but I do need help.  I realize it is difficult.  My online support group constantly talks about how people treat us like we are faking it or just lazy.  I look fine...and I can act fine when I need to ...but it costs me.  I can pretend I'm fine for up to eight hours when I'm working...but it takes a week to recover.I will need help driving.  On Friday morning I might need help getting out the door - maybe ask you to grab me a bagel and coffee from the breakfast bar and bring it to the room.  On Friday afternoon - I'm taking whatever drugs I need to take to go on that tour (IF I can get us reservations)...but I might not make dinner.  Hell... I might not make dinner Thursday night.  If not, I might need you to bring some food back from whichever restaurant you visit.  I'm no fun anymore.  I know that.  I can't drink.  I can't last a day of sightseeing, I can't go to dinner.  It's not fun for me and I know it's not fun for you.  I'm sorry...but please don't make it worse by directing your disappointment at me.  I didn't choose this illness.  I don't like it anymore than you do.Please decide to come with me and make do with who I am now, and who I am not.  It is all I can offer.Love,XXXXXLast night I asked her to come early before we left for New Orleans and drop Lucy my dog off at Jessica's to save time.  This is a woman who regularly gets up at 5 a.m. - I didn't think it would be that big of a deal.  She said, "Why can't you get up early and do it?"  I was so fucking mad I banged dishes and scared the pooch.  This is after I fixed her a nice dinner and paid for a movie.  She NEVER offers to help with dishes and didn't even get up to clear the table or help with coffee.  JESUS the woman is a narcissistic bitch.  The real question is...WHY do I continue to want her to change.  I'm the one who is crazy here.  Pathetic really.  Mommy, mommy please love me....please stroke my hair.  NEVER will happen.  Never has and never will.  Yet I still desperately want a loving mother.  There are times when I truly can say I love her exactly as she is.  I practice that...but for two nights I've been awake most of the night replaying and conjuring conversations that might ....just might get kindness instead of contempt.  When will I llearn that I need to do that for myself...that I can only do that for myself.  I'm handicapped in that those who CAN do that for themselves usuually had a safe environemnt as infants and as children.  The battlefield I was born into wired me for anxiety unfortunately.WAAA Waaaa Waaaa Pity party is officially over.  She will either respond well or badly or somewhere inbetween.  We shall see.