Loving Myself Through My Mothers Bipolar Disorder

I joined this site because I wanted to know that I'm not alone. 

I hope my experiences can help someone out there know that they aren't the only ones that have been affected by this kind of situation. My particular experience of course can't speak for everyone; everyone's story is unique and reading through all of these entries has helped me gain solace as well as broaden my understanding of the disorder.

This is my story.

My parents were high school sweethearts that got married two years after high school. In total they were married for 17 years. In their 15th year of marriage they had me.

My dad fought through my mom's illness and abuse for 17 years.

I am going to stop here and say that not everyone who has bipolar disorder or a narcissistic personality disorder is cruel. I want to be clear here; my moms actions are through her own decisions, and while she is limited by her emotional disabilites, that does NOT give her the right to treat people the way she has. She is sick, and refuses the resources that she has to help herself.

Her actions and experiences alone do not represent these disorders and the individuals who have them, and I want to be respectful of that before I continue.

My dad grew up in a typical nuclear family, and had never experienced abusive relationships before my mom. In that way he was unprepared and very naive. My mom grew up in an abusive household, and he believed removing her from that environment would fix all of her issues. Unfortunately, my mom did improve in many ways, but she was still exhibited cruel and manipulative behavior.

After trying and failing for years, it all came to a head one morning over an argument about money. At the time my parents were seperated but he was still trying to make things work. They were fighting over a tax return. Instead of splitting it equally with my dad, my mom decided to forge my dads name on the check and stormed out of the house. My dad ran into the driveway to stop her. As far as I know my mom had only been verbally and emotionally abusive up until this point. For some reason, she decided this was the time to cross that line. 

My dad stepped onto our driveway to stand in her way and instead of stopping, she hit him. He rolled over the top of the car and landed with a heavy thud on our gravel driveway as my mom drove away. She left him there, laying in a cloud of dust.

I know this is what happened because I was watching from our front window.

I was sitting in a high chair when they broke out into the fight. I heard the gravel under the car ties and a loud thud. I looked outside and saw my dad's limp body laying on the ground. I watched him there motionless for a few minutes before panic set it. I screamed for him but he didn't move.

My panic of feeling stuck in my chair was rising, and fought and screamed, until I knocked myself over. I don't remember being hurt, but I do remember running as fast as I could to the front door, where we had a glass cutout that I could see through. I didn't know the concept of death, but I did know that my dad wasn't getting up, and that I was terrified of his stillness.

My dad doesn't know how long he laid there but when he came to, he looked up to see me sobbing and pounding on the glass.

I was only three years old.

My dad knew then that he had to leave. He had no choice anymore if he wanted me to be safe.

Years passed, and eventually I suppressed the memory. As I grew I would increasingly have horrible nightmares, watching my dad be hurt over and over again and not being able to reach him. I blamed myself for being an overly anxious child, having no idea what the source of my anxiety was or how to deal with it.

Until I mentioned these dreams to my dad last year and he burst into tears.

Everything in my brain clicked into place. My mom stopped being someone with powerful emotions, she stopped just being sensitive. My memories and beliefs that I decided were false were now very real, and they refused to be ignored. The glasses she threw at me in anger for asking to visit my dad came crashing down on me, along with the memories of her crouching in a dark closet and growling like a feral animal. My excuses for her behavior and the manipulatiove lies she told me weaved together to become a grey backdrop for the techicolor brightness of her very real anger and violence. It was all too bright, like I had regained my sight from a lifetime of blindness all at once. In desperation I crawled into my dad's lap, reduced again to the small child that I was and still am, and wept.

That was the moment my nightmares once again became reality. 

I blame the disorder for the mood swings, the outburts, the dangerous highs and lows.

But I blame my mother for letting them control her life. I blame her telling herself that everyone else is the problem and refusing the offers for help. 

I blame her for having the awareness that something is wrong, and choosing to look the other way.

I blame her for taking away the mother that I deep down know that she could have been, that I deserved to have.

I blame her for the shame I felt. For having to fight to keep her dirty little secrets and fruitlessly trying to stop her from hurting me and the ones I love over, and over again.

But I will not let her decisions define me.

I'm going to therapy, joining a support group for codependency, and learning to love myself through all of this pain. I am reteaching myself to put the blame on her decisions, and not on myself, or my countless attempts I made to appease her.

I'm doing this all of for myself, and for the people I love most, because they deserve to know the best possible person that I can become. I deserve the be the healthiest mentally that I can be.

I'm telling this story because I've read so many stories of others feeling my pain, and I want you to know that you are not alone.

Day at a time, we will heal.

We cannot stop them. We cannot change them, unless they want it for themselves. What we can change, is how much we let them and their actions control us.

Healing ourselves is the only way that we can help ourselves, and our loved ones who are letting their disorders control who they are.

I hope through my own journey I can someday show my mom the same kind of peace. I cannot let that be my sole reason, but I can't tell you that it isn't something I hope for.

I still love her, and I forgive her even though she doesn't believe she needs forgiveness.