loss

Blahpolar

My friend has gone and I don’t know what to do, what I should have or could have done.  I know the logic – there was nothing I could do.  But it remains that I am, as we all are, left with survivors guilt and the broken heart of the ones left behind.  I understand, respect and support her decision.  She has fulfilled the ultimate act of self-care, and removed herself from this nightmare of a world where she endurde a daily, torturous struggle against which there is no cure.  Now she has peace and joy and can laugh again.

Her path ran parallel to that of my mother’s – med resistant, ECT, suicide.  So much loss, blame and anger lies at the feet of bipolar and the medical community who prove time and time again to be inept in treating this illness.  Making money off our desperation.

Blahpolar had an immense effect on my life.  I doubt she even realised how much.  She walked beside me on my own journey even as she carried the weight of her own demons.  She said two words that redefined my life – you matter.  Two simple words that changed my life.  And now, I am at a loss for words.  Because she mattered to me, and to you and to us.  Words escape me.  All I have are tears.

I am still waiting for someone to contact me and tell me this was all a big mistake.  That it’s not true.  But it is true and her death has shifted my world slightly off axis. And I know that it will never turn quite the same again.

I won’t be joining you all on the 10 Sept.  It’s not because  I didn’t love her.  Its because I loved her that I can’t participate.  I will be taking my grief into isolation.  To be completely honest, I’m not sure I will return to blogging.  We all make such deep connections here, there is so much support and friendship and advocacy.  But despite the wonders of technology, we are still left alone and helpless in the face of bipolar.  I don’t know if I want to be vulnerable to anymore loss.  I just….. I don’t know what to say.

This was one of her favourite songs….. (PS – can someone please tell me what has happened to her dog?  Please I have to know)

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She stepped off the ledge

twenty three years ago

my mother turned to go

she stepped off the ledge

of sanity’s edge

and fell to her death

in just one breath

I love you today more than ever

you were truly a genuine treasure

you found humour in so many things

even went flying without any wings

I look like you, I have your smile

that people often do admire

You may be gone with each dawn since

but of your love I’m still convinced

I hold your memory close

and think of you the most

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 - 8.30am (source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/181551428705976389/)

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 – 8.30am (source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/181551428705976389/)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just a thought #2

emotionally unavailable

 

I’ll push you away because I like you, and it seems too good to be true.  I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ll push you away, to test how hard you will hold on, to test what it takes before you abandon me. I’ll push you away because I believe I am unloveable.

I’ll push you away, and no one will be more confused than me.

– Emotional Unavailability

 

 

 

 

yesterday i cried

yesterday I cried. I cried for all the loss, the loneliness, confusion, betrayal and fear. I mourned my pets, both living and dead, that I will never hold again. I wept at the cruelty of my husband. Choosing alcohol, not me, never looking back. My mother choosing death over me. My father never choosing me. I cried for the times I tried to please but brought only disappointment. For my endless failures. Wrong choices, missteps, bad decisions. My body aches with unbeaten sorrow. An unbearable misery that makes me want to claw my skin off my bones. I cry until my beath is short and my vision blurred.

The Cry By. Stèphane Berla on 500px.com

The Cry By. Stèphane Berla on 500px.com

 

Bipolar, I fucking hate you, I silently screamed. I hate that you make everything hurt so much, amplify every emotion to the point of physical pain. You give no answers. All the while feeding me with confusion, betrayal, self-doubt, isolation, anger. You’ve taken so much, how much more do you want from me? Except, maybe for me to give in? Sometimes I wonder why I try so hard. So much time, money, effort, to achieve, what exactly? Because no matter how much medication, therapy, support, its always there, tucked just below the surface, laughing at me, waiting to draw back the curtain of sanity and show the world just how crazy and different and scary I am. It revels in the judgments and the obvious whispers of you don’t belong here and you never will.

But today is yesterday’s tomorrow. It may hold hope. So I put my mask on, try to look my best and carry on with the mundane, like a programmed robot (fixed smile, robot voice “hello, I am fine. Hello, I am fine”)

ANNOUNCEMENT: This episode was brought to you courtesy of the trigger gastroenteritis. Bipolar exploits any weakness.