Some Frustration

Well. It's been almost a full month since I posted anything. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about, it's just that I haven't published it.

I've been very frustrated lately. See, I'm in a low grade depression. Chock full of apathy, negative thoughts, exhaustion, and feeling like I want to die - or at least not exist - because everything seems pointless. I often don't want to be around people or interact with them. I kinda don't want to be touched at times. I often want to sleep so that I don't have to deal with how I'm feeling.

I hate this.

I was triggered 2 weeks ago by something I read in one of my Al-Anon daily readers. It was about forgiveness. And it made me realize that I haven't forgiven my mom for her drinking. And that I can't separate her from the disease of alcoholism. I can't see her for the person she is. Anytime I come close, my walls shoot up. And they're tall, thick, and covered in barbed wire.

This trigger happened on Friday the 17th. Saturday the 18th I talked about it in Al-Anon. The following Wednesday (last Wednesday) I talked about it in therapy and then with hubby that night. I started grieving the relationship that I will never have with my mom. This, I think, is the first step in forgiving her and forming some kind of relationship (I hadn't spoken to her in over 3 months).

I then called her last Saturday and we talked for 30 minutes. It went well - better than I thought - and I decided that we can talk, but only on my terms. I'll have to wait and see how this goes.

But what's frustrating is this damn depression. I'm stable for fuck's sake!!! I shouldn't have to deal with this!!

Except that this is part of having bipolar disorder.

I can be triggered and go into a mood episode. Since I'm stable, this depressive episode isn't as bad as it could be. Which I should be thankful for. And I am. But I'm still fighting against how I think I should feel being stable (which is no swings, happy all the time, cheerful, energetic, possibly slightly hypomanic - this is unrealistic, I know, but it's my ideal), and how I actually feel.

My "should" is very unrealistic. I was starting to accept that. Starting to accept that I'll have mini swings (that are more extreme than the "normal" range of emotions). Starting to accept that my mood can still change at the drop of a hat and that I will never truly know what my mood will be like at any given moment. I was starting to accept that.

But then this depression happened, and it has hung around for 2 weeks, and everything that I was starting to accept goes out the window.

So I'm frustrated. I'm reminding myself daily that this is part of bipolar disorder, that I'm still way better than I have been, and that eventually it will pass. I'm doing all of the correct, positive things that I should be doing and that I've learned how to do in therapy. I'm trying to dig myself out of this hole. And I will. I know I will. Or at least I keep telling myself that.

Ugh. Stupid depressive feels.

Booooooooooo

I'm not sure if I've posted about this particular topic before. So I'm gonna give some background info first:

You all probably know that my mom is an alcoholic. Has been one for as long as I can remember. I have vivid, negative memories of my childhood, being the caretaker often for my brother and my mom. Lots of baggage with this. I'm ACOA (adult child of an alcoholic). This brings numerous characteristics of behavior and maladapted coping (which goes along awesomely with being bipolar . . . that was sarcasm by the way). (I should also point out that she is in complete denial about her drinking. She could be pouring vodka in a cup, drink from it, and tell you that she doesn't drink. I'm not exaggerating)

I've been diagnosed with chronic PTSD because of my upbringing. My mom is a huge trigger for me (my therapist and I have been working on this intensely for the last month and a half or so). For the longest time I refused to talk to her after about 6pm. Why? Because she would most likely be drunk and I can't handle that. Talking to my mom when she's been drinking - even if she's not drunk - has a decidedly negative effect on me. Anger, frustration, helplessness, fear, guilt, and shame all flood me. I overreact emotionally, which can send me into a bipolar mood swing. That's not good.

While trying to work through all this in therapy she's become even more of a trigger for me. So that even getting a text from her (no matter what time of day) gives me all of those negative emotions and fills me with anxiety. My therapist suggested I do something drastic - cut my mom out completely. No texts, no phone calls, no emails. If I don't have to constantly battle my negative feelings, perhaps I could work more on recovery. Makes sense.

And was very inviting.

So I sent my mom an email outlining the restrictions. No contact unless I initiate it. If she wanted to know how I was doing she could enquire through my hubby (which he had said he was okay with). I explained why. I let her know that this wasn't permanent, but that I didn't know how long it would last. She sent me an email back letting me know how much this hurt her (a guilt tactic, which she had used often growing up - I have no doubt that this decision hurt her but she lays it on thick). She said she would honor my wishes.

It was going well for a couple of weeks. I was a little more relaxed. I'm dealing with a lot of guilt over this as I'm her daughter - I should be talking to her and checking up on her and being what a daughter is supposed to be (which my therapist told me I need to get over - he pointed out that I felt this way partly because I always felt that way growing up - I had an obligation to her).

And then last night happened.

She texted my hubby and let him know that she had gone to the hospital as she thought she had a blood clot (she had surgery for a broken ankle 8? 10? 12?  weeks ago and was in a cast and then a walking boot). She told him that she was home and okay and it wasn't a clot (whatever was going on was caused because she wasn't following her physician's orders and hadn't been wearing the walking boot like she was supposed to). She stated in her text that all she needed was me and that I wasn't there for her and it was bullshit (I read the text). All those icky, negative feels? They came flooding back. My sense of guilt and shame overwhelmed me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, she's my mom and I love her and I want to know that she's alright. But at the same time the thought of talking to her filled me with dread.

After much trepidation I decided to text her. Asked her how she was doing as hubby had told me about the trip to the hospital. It was a very brief exchange of texts. I told her if something major like this happened that she could contact me - I'm not heartless, I'm just trying to care for me and heal.

The exchange of texts, the feelings that flooded me . . . it was overwhelming. The hour of deliberation and texts left me completely exhausted. Literally. It was only 8pm and I was ready for bed I was so exhausted. How fucking stupid is that? And equally disturbing is that no one can really understand that.

How having to wrestle with my feelings and my mom can take everything out of me and leave me empty.

It is so. Fucking. Stupid.

I didn't tell my hubby that last night. I don't think he'd understand (sorry). And the not understanding coupled with the guilt and shame I was feeling would have really put me over the top. I was already fragile enough last night.

I fucking hate this.

Today I'm conflicted. I feel so guilty that I think I should just reinstate contact with my mom. Not because I want to - but because I feel obligated to do so. My therapist would very strongly advise against this (as does my best friend). I need to get myself healthy. I shouldn't engage with my mom until she's not such a strong trigger. I'm siding with no contact. I need time.

I just hate how shitty I feel.

The thing is . . .

. . . I really kinda feel like shit. Super irritable and depressed. There isn't a day again where I don't break down sobbing. I don't want to exist - if I could just sleep until I felt better. But the scary thing? I'm moving into the "I don't want to live stage". That's not  a good place to be. I'm so tired of feeling like crap. And thinking that this will go on for as long as I'm alive . . . well, that's daunting and depressing in and of itself.

I had therapy on Tuesday and M had me do an exercise where I pretended my mom was sitting across from me and I had to tell her what I was feeling. I kinda failed at it. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't really do the exercise justice. I want a do over. He also gave me homework of sorts: to cut all communication with my mom. Now, she's a pretty big trigger for me and even getting a text with her fills me with anger and icky feels. M is worried about my current emotional/mental state and said that contact with her is probably too much right now.

I tend to agree. I've said for a long time it would be so much easier if she were dead. Which is a horrible thing to think - trust me, I know (though M said it's a very common thing for ACOA's to think of their alcoholic parent). So I decided that yes, cutting contact for now would be good for me.

Thinking about that conversation fills me with dread. Hubby suggested that I write her an email outlining everything and then have a very brief conversation with her. I convey everything more eloquently through the written word and I can avoid a confrontation that way. It'll still be hard because I know it will "break her heart" (those would be her words, not mine). And that will make me feel guilty (M says I need to get over my guilt). And my mom really isn't a bad person - she's not this abusive monster or anything. She's just an alcoholic ( a very functional one) who happens to be an extremely big trigger for me.

I really hope she doesn't take this too hard.

I officially started trauma work

And it kinda sucks. And by "kinda sucks" I mean it's pretty awful and I'm not looking forward to this every week.

But it has to be done.

Today was my first full session of trauma work. It started with a brief recap of my past week and a half (which has been damn crappy with break downs, self harm, and tons of icky feels). Then M said, bluntly, "So let's talk about your childhood". I didn't know where to start. There's so much and it's overwhelming.

I started with my mom's fractured ankle. She fractured her ankle last Friday night falling down her stairs (I can only assume she had been drinking - she's done this before). I took her to the orthopedist yesterday and it turns out she needs surgery and can't drive for 6 weeks. Which means I'll be helping her around. Which means I have to have more interaction with her than I want to. Which raises my anxiety level and icky feels and makes me angry and uncomfortable.

I had a crap day yesterday. I only got one hour of sleep and I was in a foul mood. Then the above happened. I spent most of the afternoon crying uncontrollably. I wan't so badly to self harm. I had decided that anytime I feel like self harming I'd draw a butterfly on my arm instead. I ended up with 9 butterflies yesterday. I shredded 2 lawn chairs and threw them across the yard. I sat outside listening to music while it sprinkled on me (I was hoping for a downpour) trying to calm down, crying off and on.

And then something dawned on me. I started thinking that I was having a PTSD overreaction to something. Namely, having to help my mom out was putting me in the position of caretaker to her - the role I played growing up, taking care of her when she was drunk. Even though the situation for helping her out is different, emotionally I'm going back to when I was little. I'm dealing with childhood feels.

I told M this and he agreed that it was very probable that this is what was going on yesterday. It was a good segway into our discussion. Now, I'm not going to go into detail about what all was said. Not publicly. I'll probably write about it separately as I try to process everything.

One thing that did happen during therapy is that I emotionally shut down. I became guarded. I didn't want icky feels to flood me. This is something that I shouldn't do - I need to feel these things in order to process them, and I shut down. I'll be trying not to do that next week. I think I just had such a crappy week with feels and crying and such a horrible day yesterday with feels and crying that I couldn't take it today. So I shut down.

We spent our last 10-15 minutes talking about horses and horseback riding (I went riding last Saturday). It was a good way to decompress and try to release some of the icky feels.

This is hard, y'all. Trauma work sucks. I know it's necessary and that's fine - we'll muddle through as best we can. And hopefully I won't get thrown into a mood episode in the process.

Back from Boston

And can I just say "wow". It was a whirlwind of a trip - we were only in Boston for around 24 hours. But I learned quite a bit - and can hopefully move forward in my recovery.

I'm still processing everything I was told, and probably will be for some time. A bomb of knowledge was dropped on me and, while some of it is just speculation, it's a lot for me to think about.

Let's start with this: I saw Dr. Brian Schulman at the Bipolar Clinic and Research Program at Mass General. I was sent to see him as a "second opinion". Basically, my psych doc (pdoc) has no idea what to do with me so he wanted me to see the big dogs - the guys who work only with bipolar patients. The appointment was 2 hours long and started with a thorough health and mental history (hubby was not in the office for most of the visit - only for about 30 min). He had me explain things about my past (my upbringing in an alcoholic home, my abusive ex, my father's death) in way more detail than anyone other than my therapist. He had me explain what my mania and depression were like, going over the big episodes and as many of the little ones as seemed relevant.

This lasted the first hour.

We spent only around 10-15 minutes going over meds - what I'm on currently (which he said is a good combo and he wouldn't change it) and what I've previously taken. My reaction to 2 meds (Latuda and Depakote) is highly unusual.

But we all knew that I was unusual.

And then the meat. Then he got to work. He pointed out that the most recent 2 diagnoses that I have been given (rapid cycling bipolar 2 and rapid cycling bipolar 1 with psychotic features) sent up a red flag. See, rapid cycling - true rapid cycling - is rare. (Rapid cycling is defined as having at least 4 distinct mood episodes in a year - each episode lasting at least 2 weeks). He said I didn't actually fit this criteria (while I've been told by my current pdoc, my new pdoc, my second opinion pdoc in Pueblo, and the docs at the hospital that I am rapid cycling). He said that since my hypomanic and mixed states (except for one in October/November 2013) don't typically last for more than a few days, they can't be considered a major mood episode. Hence, I'm not truly rapid cycling.

He told me that 9/10 times when someone comes to him with a "rapid cycling" diagnosis, something else is going on too.

My something else?

Chronic PTSD.

From my childhood. From being raised in an unpredictable, often unstable home with my mom. From my dad, who was my safety net, my confidant, and my strength, dying so young (he was 43 and died from lung cancer). From being in an abusive relationship. From being an RN (yeah - RNs actually build up chronic PTSD - we see some fucked up shit, y'all).

Dr. Schulman said that people with chronic PTSD react differently than say a war veteran with PTSD or a one time rape victim with PTSD. With the acute PTSD, you think of flashbacks, nightmares, all of that stuff. Not so with chronic. We don't adhere to the typical fight or flight - instead, we freeze. We either become numb, or we overreact emotionally.

Now, think about this. I have bipolar disorder. A mood disorder. Characterized by exaggerated moods. And chronic PTSD, in which I overreact emotionally. Let that sink in. I did.

Dr. Schulman explained that the 2 almost feed off each other and it's hard to tell which is which - which mood change that I have is from the bipolar and which is from the PTSD. He said that in the brief time he'd talked to me he saw only 2 "true" manic episodes (meaning they lasted 2 weeks or longer) - one in college and my one in October/November 2013 (this alone earns me a Bipolar 1 diagnosis). My hypomanic episodes (which can last hours to a day or two) could be bipolar mood shifts or PTSD overreactions. Or both - acting off one another.

So, in other words, it's complicated.

My medications, he explained, do an amazing job at warding off the big bipolar mood swings - the true mania and sometimes major depression - but do nothing for the little swings. Which is why changing medications all the time trying to manage these swings is ineffective (and mimics the unpredictable environment I was raised in, he pointed out, which can trigger more cycling).

We've been doing everything ass backwards it would seem.

So what helps these little swings? Psychotherapy. He said I had a lot of work to do in that area, in going over my past. Which, I know. We've spent so much time in therapy doing damage control and crisis intervention that we haven't spent much time delving into my past. I wouldn't even know where to start.

Now, there's the depressive side to this too, we can't forget that (especially since that's what I struggle with). I've had depression for as long as I can remember - 4th or 5th grade at least. And I always seem to have this underling depression, this black void in me that never goes away. Dr. Schulman believes that I also have Major Depressive Disorder - and that it's difficult to tell which depression is bipolar related, and which is depressive disorder related. So the depression is harder to treat. Most likely the constant underlying depression is depressive disorder and my more acute, suicidal depressions are bipolar related. But there's no way to know for sure.

Listening to all of this just kinda . . . clicked. It made sense to me. It seems very plausible. Dr. Schulman pointed out that some of this was speculation, based on the short amount of time we had to meet and talk, but that that was his professional opinion. Does that mean that this is a set-in-stone diagnosis/treatment plan? No. It most definitely isn't. This is another set of eyes taking a fresh look at my situation. This set of eyes just happens to be from a bipolar specialist. And what he said did make sense to me.

So I'm left with this - my diagnoses:
1. Bipolar 1
2. Major Depressive Disorder
3. Chronic PTSD

And work. I have a lot of work to do now. If Dr. Schulman is correct about my smaller swings, then it's all on me to manage them. And I've been doing a piss poor job at that because it's fucking hard, y'all. My mood swings, whether bipolar, PTSD related, or both, are unpredictable and difficult for me to manage - if it were easy, why the hell would I be going through everything I've been going through?

But hearing this, that all these little swings are most likely up to me to figure out and will probably never go away . . . that's fucking daunting. You kinda hold out hope that the right med combo will make it all better - and that's just not going to happen. He warned me that the weight of this would hit me - and might hit me hard. He even wanted to make sure I was seeing my therapist this week because of this. He told me to warn my hubby about it.

As I write this, I feel mostly numb. Mostly. Given the right trigger, I'd break down sobbing. I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to see Dr. Schulman. His opinion is by far the most different from any that I've received, but also the most comprehensive - it seems to take in the whole picture, whereas others are just about the meds.

At any rate, I have more of something that I've been lacking for awhile now. . .

Hope.

Fuck you Clancy

(I named my brain Clancy, for those of you who don't know)

So my brain is stupid. Not that this is really a surprise, but it's getting damn annoying. I'm feeling better, and yesterday I felt pretty damn good. And then . . .

My brain is an asshole. Clancy, you're an asshole. 

I'm working through all of this ACOA and codependency shit at the moment, which fucking sucks - let's be honest. It's difficult, and even though I have ups and downs with it, for the most part I've been okay. I'm learning more about myself, my flawed coping mechanisms, and how I can change all of this. I've been starting to be gentler with myself (trying, at the very least), and am trying to forgive myself. 

And then BAM! Major bipolar mood swing. Out of nowhere. For no reason. Just sadness and hopelessness and depressive thoughts flooding me. It literally happened in seconds. I was fine, and then I was not. 

This happened last night and has continued into today. I feel like crying and screaming, only I can't. I'm trying not to let it bring me down. I went to the gym, cleaned the bathrooms, did the dishes, swept, vacuumed, did laundry. I'm keeping busy. I'm writing. I'm not curling up into a ball of misery which is what I want to do. So that's a plus.

And I'm saying this is a bipolar swing because of the sudden randomness of its onslaught. If it was going to be feeling like shit because of, say, working through some ACOA stuff, it comes on gradually. Not this. Clancy brought this shit on fast. And I really hate that this stuff still happens. That it will always happen. And that I have to be constantly vigilant for it. That while this isn't necessarily the start of a mood episode, it's still difficult and annoying and tiresome to have to deal with. And that, at any time, my brain might decide to swing me into depression or mania, no matter how stable I think I am, and no matter how much I try to stop it.

So Clancy? You, sir, are an asshole.

Odd . . .

I feel very strange today. My mood is kinda . . . down. But not really. It is at times, other times fine, other times just . . . off. I'm not quite sure.

I had a profound wave of sadness wash over me while I was taking my meds this morning. I have no idea why. It passed relatively quickly and I tried not to overanalyze it (one of my favorite things to do). But it made no sense to me.

Later, I started thinking about a couple of friends who are having marital problems (possibly serious). And I got to thinking about my marriage and how lucky I am to have the hubby I do.

See, I'm kind of a terrible wife. I have been the main stressor in my family over the last 2 years. I have been needy, time consuming, worrisome, explosive, angry, unpredictable, ungrateful, and a host of other equally not good adjectives. Yes, I've been sick with the worst mood episode of my life, but that doesn't excuse the above mentioned adjectives (at least in my mind. Because I'm ACOA and need to be perfect. Even though I'm clearly not).

I've spent so much time depressed and angry and withdrawn, barely participating in life. I've been self-absorbed and selfish, constantly putting myself before my family (the opposite of what I did growing up). I've been stand-offish and unloveable.

I don't know how my husband hasn't left me. I literally don't comprehend it. He says because he loves me and that's what people do. But let's be honest - I've been crap. I think anyone else would have left. But he's patient, loving, and kind. He's there to listen to me vent, to hold me when I cry, to leave me when I need space. He offers advice even when I don't want to hear it and encouragement when I think I can't go on. He puts up with my anger and outbursts and makes me laugh instead. He does all this without protest.

He is my hero, and I hope he knows that.

Therapy and ACOA

Today was the therapy day that I was (and wasn't) looking forward to. If you remember from my last post, I had read Codependent No More and had all these horrible feels and today I was going to start talking about them. Well, talk I did.

I started by reading M my last journal entry (which he found amusing, laughed, and joked that maybe he should be worried and leave). He reminded me that I didn't need to dive in balls to the wall with this. No, definitely not. But I need to start. And today was as good a day as any (especially with all the icky feels I've had from reading that book).

Funny thing is, I didn't really know where to start. I pointed out my anger and frustration. That I don't want to have to sort through this. It's too much and it's not fair and I want to be done with it!

See, I'm still very much that scared little girl, trapped in the darkness of my own mind, haunted by my memories and feelings. They chase me, like the wolf after his prey. I'm cornered now, back against the wall, and all I can do is fight for my life.

And this is a fight. A struggle within myself, to overcome myself. To pull this little girl out of the darkness, into the light, and show her that everything is okay. We've survived, thrived even. She needs comfort. She needs protection. She needs to be able to own herself, gain confidence, and start repairing the damage.

Here's where we start:

My mom is an alcoholic. She's been one for as long as I can remember. Life with an alcoholic is unpredictable, chaotic, and sometimes downright terrifying. There is fear, mixed messages, confusion, anger, guilt, shame, hopelessness, powerlessness. All of this takes its toll. It wears you down.

I was the caretaker. When my mom was drunk, I made sure she was in bed. I made sure my brother got to bed. That we were all fed, that alarms were set. I felt responsible for them, my brother and mom. I was overprotective of my brother - if anything "bad" happened to him it would devastate me (though I hid these feelings because they were feelings that would start a screaming match between my mom and I). I put them before myself - always. Even though I desperately didn't want to.

I grew increasingly withdrawn at home and in life in general. My true feelings caused problems. I learned quickly to bottle them up. I slept all the time - I claimed I had mono to explain that away. I thought about suicide - often. I wished I could get away. I didn't have friends. I felt different from everyone. What if they found out my mom was an alcoholic? The shame and guilt kept me mute.

 I hated my life. I hated everything about it. I hated my mom. I hated that my dad couldn't save me. I hated that nobody saw how much pain I was in, how close I was to killing myself. I hated myself.

Maybe if I worked hard, maybe if I was the perfect daughter, did well in school, got a job, maybe then the drinking would stop. That didn't work. Maybe I wasn't perfect enough. Despite my good grades and working nearly full time starting at age 16, the drinking didn't stop. I sought approval. I sought affirmation that I was good. That I did good. If I was good, she'd have to stop. Right?

Wrong. No matter what I tried, the drinking didn't stop. I wasn't good enough. She even said it herself. My brother and I were a burden and maybe one day she just wouldn't come home. I was a failure. I wasn't good enough.

There were screaming matches about her drinking. Constantly. My brother and I would find and empty her bottles of vodka. We'd confront her lies. There were so many lies you never knew what to believe. Broken promises of getting sober. We learned not to trust.

So often, after a screaming match, mom would say she'd only have a drink on the weekend. We said okay. Then it became a few. We said okay. Then it was one a night. We relented. Then it was however many she wanted. We gave up. She'd say she wouldn't drink if there were people over. We said okay. Then it was drinking no matter who was over. We gave up. We learned that boundaries didn't matter - they got trampled on anyway.

She was embarrassing when she was drunk. She acted erratically, was unpredictable, and said things that made you want to curl into a ball and hide away. She did this in front of company, family, my brother's friends (I didn't have friends). I felt responsible for her actions - as if I should be able to control them. I felt they reflected badly on me. I felt ashamed of her and guilty I couldn't control her actions.

Now, let's look at this (very) brief synopsis and see what I've learned, what I've picked up. Shame, guilt. Despite trying to do everything right and be perfect, I'm a failure. I don't trust, don't have boundaries, and don't know what to believe. My feelings are bad and should be kept to myself. I feel responsible for other's actions. I put everyone ahead of myself, often to my detriment. Pain, confusion, anger, resentment.

All of these traits (and others) have followed me to this day. All of these I struggle with every day. I never realized this until M had me research ACOA and read Codependent No More. So much of my behaviors and thought patterns make sense now. My mom's alcoholism wasn't as bad as it could have been. My childhood wasn't nearly as bad as others had it. But that doesn't mean it affected me any less.

My journey to healing and recovery has started. The road is long, and probably rocky at times, but I have all the gear I need to make the trek. Hopefully I'll find peace along the way. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find that little girl and I can hold her in my arms and tell her everything will be alright.

Confusion, feels, and general badassery

So I recently finished reading Codependent No More which was a homework book assigned by my therapist, M. At first I was all, "um, totally not codependent dude." He insisted. He told me I was stable enough to handle it. Stable enough to handle a book? He also told me not to read it on a day I was feeling vulnerable. Okay . . . .

I read it. His warning was accurate. It was difficult. Had I read it earlier, when my bipolar wasn't under control . . . I shudder to think what would have happened. This book . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The confusion, anger, feelings, pain and grief  that flooded me. I can't even comprehend, I don't even know . . . It's bad. It's all bad. The feels . . . good God the feels. M, what the fuck.

See, I've spent my entire LIFE suppressing this. All of this. All of this anger and pain and hurt and confusion. All of these God dammed FEELS. Suppressed. Boxed up. Hidden away in the darkest recess of my mind. Ignored.

Except . . . except they weren't totally gone. Not really. Because of my interactions with my mom. Because of my learned behaviors from my upbringing. And recently, M has been poking and prodding. He's the one who described me as ACOA, had me educate myself, stirred the beast from its slumber. He open the proverbial can of worms and these worms are ugly mother fuckers.

Everything I'm feeling right now, everything I'm desperately trying to hold in, shut up, suppress . . . it's leaking out. It can't come out. It can't. No.

But I fucking need it to come out. It has to. I'll never get better, never be truly recovered if it doesn't come out. And it terrifies me. I don't know what to do, where to start, how to deal. The anger . . . the anger I'm feeling right now. At my mom, my dad, myself. At the world. At how unfair everything is. At how, had I known this shit earlier, I could have saved myself some heartache.

Then there's the guilt, the shame. The pain, the grief. Loss. The origins of my unhealthy behaviors, habits, thoughts - all apparent. But still, denial. It's confusing.

This is shit I need to work through, and it's going to be hard. So hard. I'm scared and confused. I'm trying to hold everything in still. Honestly, I'm trying not to explode until I see M on Tuesday. I need guidance and support. This is a ton of ugly worms to sort through. From my earliest memory of my mom's alcoholism (age 6) to now (I'm 35) . . . 29 years of repressed emotion and anger and pain.

What have you gotten yourself into, M? Hopefully you fish because you now have a fuckton of bait.

Just a quickie.

No, not that kind. Get your head outta the gutter.

I've had lots on my mind lately. Trying to sort out my anger issues as of late, the feeling of almost being in tears most of the time, feeling overwhelmed with everything. It's frustrating, it's annoying. I'm also wrestling with knowing that I'm having another ACOA talk in therapy next week. I need to. I need to get through this and move on but holy FUCK is it gonna suck. I'll be writing more on this, at some point, just not now. Gotta sort it out still.

Right now I'm actually writing for a mini vent. See, J is in kinda a foul mood. Just an off day for him. Everyone has them (I swear the whole last year and a half has been nothing but off days for me). He's been working hard, doing stuff around the house and I get it.

But my problem is that I let the moods of other people influence my mood and bring me down. First, with J especially, I think it's my fault. He tells me it's not, just an off day. But won't elaborate. Then, for some unknown reason, the fact that he's down makes me resentful, then annoyed, and then down myself. Then I withdraw and want to be alone.

Which is where I am now. I didn't really have a breakfast (coffee, yogurt, handful of chocolate covered pretzels), didn't eat lunch (well, a slice of cheese), and I don't want to eat dinner. I don't care. I don't care if I eat or not. I get like this when I feel like this. Fuck you food!! *holds middle fingers out triumphantly*

So I took a break and ate a banana. Go me. My jaw is bugging me. It keeps popping. Fuck you jaw. My dentist said physical therapy is next step. Yay.

Stupid mood and stupid jaw.

Developing Positive Emotional Habits

Heads up: this is very much stream of consciousness writing. Yep.

I went to a seminar today on developing positive emotional habits. That, in fact, was the title of the seminar. It was geared towards healthcare professionals - I even got continuing education credits! Now, my reasons for going were purely selfish - let's be honest, I need all the help I can get. Especially since what I'm working on right now is curbing my negative thoughts/behaviors/emotions.

Now, the seminar starts with reviewing the basics of brain chemistry as it relates to emotions - all the basic primitive stuff (fight, flight or freeze) - to all of the new information gleamed from experiments and brain imaging. It's all very interesting, fascinating even (to me at least). We learned all about the reward centers (controlled by dopamine), the emotional hub spot (the amygdala), and other fun structures (hippocampus, frontal cortex). The science of emotion and habits and addiction is just amazing. This is neat stuff y'all. Trust me.

Then we moved into discussing how to change our emotional response, and why it can be difficult to do. All these ideas. All these techniques. My mind was a jumbled, racing mass of what-ifs and maybes, and could-haves. Some things I've already been practicing. Some were new. My mind went hog wild. I became excited. I became motivated. This. THIS. All of THIS. I will do ALL of THIS and it will be epic and awesome and I'll be better and amazing and life will be grand and I'll be happy and I'll eat bacon cupcakes and fuck those who oppose me!

And then reality likes to bitch slap me. Because reality is a cunt-faced whore sandwich bent on ruining my new found motivation. See, I actually do have a mood disorder. And despite my best efforts and intentions, I will have emotions/moods/behaviors that I can't control or can't manage or don't understand. This is distressing.

On the one hand I have this new knowledge, this motivation, to really step up and work on squelching my negativity. And on the other hand I have my mood disorder and all of its uncertainties and tenacity and lies. I can have the best "control" over my emotions and be positive and optimistic, but if bipolar depression truly takes hold again, all of that control is for not. If anything more elevated than mild hypomania strikes, all bets are off. I have no self control, despite my knowledge. Despite my training and practice.

See, that's the problem. At least with me. I'm working so hard right now on ending the negative, fostering the positive. I'm using techniques I've learned in the past and I'll apply the new ones I learned today. I know the science. The actual mother fucking science.

But how well will this work for me? How well does it work when trapped in the steely grips of a mood episode? Knowing that I can change my dopamine response to a stimulus doesn't help much when I physically can't get out of bed or I'm holding a bottle of pills. Knowing I should be practicing top-down control while I'm manic and impulsive isn't going to stop me from blurting out something inappropriate or making an impulse buy (or worse).

That's my problem. All of this knowledge is awesome and will work and I'll be great. Except I won't. Because how well will it work? My mind races back and forth, back and forth. From thinking that I'll have this emotion thing pretty much figured out and all is cool, to the reality that I do have a mood disorder and this may not always work and I may be out of control.

This back and forth is so fucking distressing. It's so fucking tiring. And it's so fucking stupid. My brain picks this all apart, looks at it from every possible angle. It tries to categorize it, put it all in neat little boxes which doesn't work. But it's what I do. I have to analyze, I have to make sense of abstract bits of everything. This shit doesn't fit in boxes. It doesn't sit on the shelf, tidy and organized like I want it to.

Seriously. Why is this so fucking difficult for me to grasp?

So much of my writing and thinking lately is about this. I keep turning it over in my mind, hoping I'll see something new. But there's nothing new. There never is. The emotional control will work well when I'm stable or having mild mood swings. In a mood episode . . . who knows. Probably not. Maybe it will help me recover more quickly. I should be able to accept this fact. It's simple. But I don't. Or maybe I can't. I don't even know anymore.

I don't even know what the hell is going on in my brain lately. It's almost as if since I've been working so hard on changing my thinking and my behavior and my emotional response, my thinking has become more obsessive. Deciphering my moods and emotions: was that bipolar? ACOA? Normal? How do I categorize this? How was my response? I had a bad mood? Quick! Damage control! You can't spiral again for God's sake don't go down that road again!

I can't not try to figure it all out. But I'm driving myself crazy. I can't leave well enough alone. I truly am my own worst enemy.

Rough Day

I'm not exactly sure where I want to go with this post. It's been a weird week for me. Some hypomanic moments, a day of extreme rapid cycling, feeling down and withdrawn. You name it, I experienced it. Most of the time was okay. A lot of my mood shifts were normal. Some were not. Some were true bipolar mood swings. I managed those as well as I could. Even my rapid cycling day. I experienced each mood swing (there were many drastic ones), managed it, and moved on. I didn't catastrophize, I didn't let myself spiral. And I was proud of myself for that. Very proud.

It's funny though, those times where I had a bipolar swing for the worse, I managed and moved on, but I also lingered. I stayed there, thinking that that's where I was supposed to be. In a more depressed state. It's only natural. But I didn't stay there. I moved forward. And I was proud of that.

Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk. A little down, more withdrawn than I have been (though I tried to hide that as I was at work). I think part of it was a decision I made on Friday - a decision that was difficult and that I'm grieving over. October 4th will be my last therapy day with Chance. J and N have been kinda hinting as to me finding a closure point. They didn't say anything outright and are more than happy to do whatever I need to do, but there have been some subtle hints. So I picked an end date. Right before the horses' fall break. I'm staying on as a volunteer so I'll still be with the horses, grooming, and working with them with the disabled children and adults. But it's not the same. Because I won't be with Chance, one on one, us. And I'm grieving that loss. And I think about it and I tear up. But I need to prove to N and J and to myself that I can do this and I can move on and still be okay.

I've also been thinking a lot about therapy. I've been going to weekly sessions for so long. Soooo long. I've been thinking it's time to try going every other week. Start to space out a little. I can't keep seeing M every week for the rest of my life - that won't work. So I had made the plan of talking to him about that today.

And then today. Oh boy today. A very emotionally draining day. Therapy today was an ACOA day. M spaces them out because they're so difficult. It's no fun talking about your drunk mother and how that's affected you and, let's be honest, it sucks. But talk about it we did. And I teared up many times but I didn't cry. I kept it together.

I started to feel the loss of not having the mother I needed, the mother I wanted. Grieving for not having a parent to go to. Grieving, again, over the loss of my dad. Then I told M about Chance. Another loss I'm grieving. And then, spacing out to every other week on therapy (which M agreed I was stable enough to do).

But there's a sense of loss with that, too. I know I see M every week - it's a safety net. And now that will be gone. It doesn't seem like it's that big of a deal, but to me, it is. And I'm scared. I'm scared of failing. If I can't make it going every other week, how can I expect to get better? The goal is to space out so that eventually I only go every 3 months, or 6 months, or only if I have an issue or a crisis. The point of therapy is to get better, find yourself, and move on. I need to prove to M that I can do that. To myself as well, but I feel more of an obligation to prove it to M. He's almost become the parental figure in my life. I need to show him that I'm good and capable and okay and I can do this and he can be proud of me. Everything I had to do with my mom to feel accepted, acknowledged. (I'll be writing tons more on this, I'm sure).

So I didn't cry in therapy. But I balled when I got to my truck. For 15 minutes or so. And I went to my friend L's house and talked about therapy. And started crying. And she gave me the most amazing birthday gift - a horse plushie she knitted herself. And it made me tear up and start crying (these were happy tears). And when my hubby, J, got home, I told him about therapy. And teared up and started crying. All this crying today. I'm so drained.

And you know what sucks? I feel myself giving in to these yucky feelings. These feelings of grief and loss which mimic so well the feelings of depression. I feel myself wanting to give in and have it continue. If it continues, I need therapy more frequently, I need Chance, and the yucky feelings of loss and fear go away. This is my cycle. This is what I do. I'm staring it in the face and a big part of me wants to give up and get sick again. And I can't do that. Because this time? I might not make it out alive. And in this moment, this very moment of typing this, I'm struggling. I'm so drained from today, and I feel so crappy and it's so much easier to stay here. It's an uphill battle at the moment to pull myself back up and move out of this present funk.

But I will. Because I have to prove to people that I can. And because I have to get better.

Hello again

It's been a while since I last wrote, and quite a bit has happened. A lot has happened. And I'm still trying to process it all. I don't know how much will come out in this post, I have no idea.

We'll start by saying that I had some more crappy days. Followed by a few good ones. And then some crappy again. Two weeks ago in therapy I was bad. I was low. M suggested hospitalization again and I said no. He told me he was at a loss. He didn't know what to do at that moment. Stay present? Dig deeper? That day all he could do was support me. That was a Thursday.

And Friday happened and I was a little better. And then weekend I was pretty good. Hubby, son and I worked with mini horses for a few hours, grooming, picking hooves, laughing. Sunday hubby and I spent the day touring the parade of homes (an annual event where different homes are showcased - usually expensive fancy ones that are neat to look at because shit - I'll never live in a home like that). It was fun and I felt good. I felt good.

That feeling continued. And I made a decision. A tough one. I decided to face the root of my problem. Something I've avoided and denied and buried. But something that finally needed to be addressed.

I don't want to get better.

You read that right. I don't want to get better. Which sounds stupid and counter intuitive. And here's the kicker: I actually DO want to get better!! I'm tired of feeling like shit all the time. I'm tired of how I act around and treat my family. I'm tired of everything I've gone through and yet . . .

 See, when I'm depressed, it's much easier to stay there than to fight - because fighting is exhausting. And I've been depressed literally most of my life. It's almost my natural state. It's what I'm used to - it's comfortable. It's familiar. But that's not the half of it. If I get better . . . I don't have this . . . thing making me somewhat unique. I have this internal struggle going on, I'm brave and strong for fighting it. So strong for being able to put on that mask and do what I'm doing. And I am - I am brave and strong for doing that. No one would deny that. And in doing this, I'm getting attention. Attention I've been seeking my whole life. Knowing that I'm loved and cared for and needed. And if I get better, that all goes away.

Now, I want to make something perfectly clear: MY DEPRESSION IS REAL. MY BIPOLAR IS REAL. The pain I feel, the emptiness and sorrow and hopelessness - all real. The utter despair that drove me to overdose 3 times - real. NONE of that is fabricated in any way. It's there, it's real, and it sucks. But the reality? I perpetuate it. I let my thoughts spin out of control sometimes. I keep a pessimistic attitude. I temper any joy or happiness I might feel with the thoughts that "it won't last - an hour from now I'll be crying and want to die." I'm not allowing myself to get better because if I get better, the attention goes away.

And that's messed up. I could have easily killed myself with my overdoses and for what? So people can go "oh poor Cami, she has bipolar, she's depressed, but look at how well she's doing! She's an inspiration!" Yes. For that. And to prove to myself that I have worth and that people care about me.

The depression is there - I think it's always there, and will always be there - but I know how to manage it. Sometimes it's a lot harder to do. Genuinely harder to do. And sometimes . . . I make it harder to manage. When I feel myself getting better, I think I make it harder. And when I make it harder, it is harder. And then I spiral. And I let myself, maybe even nudge that. And then I feel like dying and I'm terrified and all I want to do is feel better and not do this again and why the hell am I back where I started??

Because I put myself there. And I'll put myself there time and time again until I finally put my foot down and say enough is enough. Which is what I'm trying to do now.

I'm realistic about my disease. I know I'll have relapses. True, genuine relapses. But if I can manage that shit above? The personality flaws? Then my relapses maybe won't be as severe, or last as long.  And that's what I need.

And a swift kick in the ass if I start to self sabotage again. Form a line, people. Form a line.

Time to sort some thoughts

There are several things I'm struggling with right now. One is working through all of the ACOA stuff. Examining how I fit into having grown up in an alcoholic household. And it's tough. Another is my job. I'm thinking about switching my area of nursing - right after accepting a promotion and getting my expert certification. Go me.

But there's something else I'm, going to write about tonight. Something that I'm truly having a difficult time thinking about/coming to terms with/accepting/believing. And that's the topic of self sabotage. It's a hard pill to swallow. One I don't want to swallow.

My husband has pointed out several times that he thinks I bring my depression upon myself. That I start to feel better and I get scared and find some reason to stay depressed. I asked him the other night what patterns, specifically, he saw and he couldn't tell me any - just that it's what I do. Let's be honest, that's less than helpful. So I asked him to be aware and if he saw something to please point it out to me.

There's one aspect of being ACOA that was hard to examine and write about - that we often play the victim. Whether to seek attention or approval, we often play the victim. I wrote a ton in my ACOA post about this. That I can see myself playing the victim. Seeking attention. Seeking approval. Exaggerating faults against my self. Catastrophizing everything. Overreacting. I can see this within myself and I hate it. Absolutely hate it. It's a trait I wish I didn't have. I don't want to be a victim or play that role. I don't.

Which makes me think - is this what I'm doing with my depression? Am I truly keeping myself depressed for attention? Sabotaging myself so I don't get better? It's such a difficult question. And the answers could be scary. Ugly. Things that I don't want to know let alone admit. But it's something I need to take a close look at if I want to get better.

So I started thinking. Examining. Paying attention to my thinking patterns, what I was feeling at any given moment. Looking for behaviors, patterns, triggers. And I discovered something: I have no idea what the fuck goes on in my head.

Let's look at last Thursday. The few days before I felt pretty good. Pretty upbeat, no real complaints. Some irritability, but that seems to be a staple with me the last 6 months. Then Thursday hits. I had no reason at all to feel depressed. Depressed enough to feel suicidal. Depressed enough to cut myself. No reason. I tried to find one. I couldn't. It happened. I was in a dark pit of despair for no reason I could see. Then my husband came home. We talked about it and I felt considerably better. Friday I was pretty good, a little down. Same with Saturday and Sunday. Monday, not bad. I went to therapy Monday night, where we talked about the cutting. I left laughing, having had a good session. Tuesday and Wednesday pretty darn good - the irritability again, but again, that seems to be normal for me.

I can find no reason for Thursday. None. J would assume that I caused it myself. Which is why I didn't call him when I wanted (and did) cut. I didn't want him to judge me and think I caused it. If I did, it was completely subconsciously.

And so I'm thinking. Thinking about everything. Thinking past over the last year. And there are patterns. Patterns of mood swings. Swings between depression and mixed episodes. Up and down over the past year. Could this be it? The ongoing struggle of finding the right combination of meds to balance me? It can take a year or more to find stability after a bipolar episode, whether depression or mania. Is this it?

Sadly, I don't think so. At least not entirely. I think it plays a major role, for sure. But I also think that ACOA is contributing. Part of my fucked up personality and mindset and just me. When I look at myself, really look at myself . . .I see that victim. That lonely sole looking for attention and approval. The one who sought it so often growing up. The one who sought it in friends but never had any. The one who sought it in a relationship and was met with pain and abuse. I see that. I see me.

That's who I am. I need attention - whether it's good or bad. I need approval. I seek it out. I strive for perfection. I worry about what people think of me. I push myself - even when I want to crumble. All for attention. All for approval. All to try and fill the void in my soul. In my core. But it's always empty - no matter how much I try to fill it with love or hate or attention or pity.

And I look at this, and I wonder, am I really causing my own depression? Do I need attention that bad that I would make myself feel like shit just to get it? Am I truly that afraid of feeling good? Am I truly that fucked up? I look at the patterns. I look at my behavior, my thoughts.

And the answer, I think, is no. The operative words being "I think". I think in some instances I might "play up" how I'm feeling. Meaning, I feel bad, but I portray that I'm feeling a little worse. For example, in therapy, when M and I were discussing my rape and abuse and sexual assault, it was difficult for me. I hadn't talked to anyone about it -ever- and it was over 12 years ago. So yes - it was hard. But I played up how difficult. I was a little more dramatic. Why? Seeking attention. I wanted sympathy, empathy. I wanted to be told that everything was alright. I wanted to be mothered.

But on the same token, it was genuinely distressing for me. It was genuinely difficult. I had nightmares. I had anxiety so bad that I needed xanax. That is not a lie. That is not me seeking attention. That is not me causing the pain or anxiety myself. Did I play it up? Yes. As much as I don't want to admit it, I played it up. But that doesn't discount the fact that it was painful and difficult and horrifying to talk about and relive.

If we look at my second major depressive episode this year (starting in October, building to a crescendo on Halloween and the week after, and slowly now leaving), I did not cause that. I was suicidal. More so than I have ever been (even more so that my episode that started this whole year long process of recovery). I felt so empty and hopeless and worthless that I almost took a gun to my head. I did not cause that. No one wants to feel like that. I don't want to feel like that.That is depression. That is bipolar disorder. That is not me.

I'm coming out of that depressive episode. It was pretty bad until the beginning of December. My meds were changed. It takes awhile to adjust. Anyone who has been through something like this knows that. I have good days and mediocre days and bad days. That's normal . That's part of bipolar disorder. That's part of being human. I have days like today where I'm down. I'm angry and sad and all I want to do is sleep. And that's okay. And maybe on a day like today I'll play up my mood. Just a little, to get attention.

And then I have days like last Thursday. A day, randomly out of the blue, where the depression is back full force, making me question if life is worth living. And those days? They happen. Do I like them? No. Do I cause them? No. I sure as hell better not because how fucked up would that actually be? And when I feel like that, I don't play it up. I'm not acting. When I feel that bad, there's no need to play it up. My actions and words - or lack there of - speak for themselves. My cuts speak for themselves. And lets be honest - I'm a highly educated RN who knows cutting does nothing. But when I felt like I did, it seemed like the only thing I could do to stop the pain. That is not looking for attention. That is looking for help.

Do I play up my moods for attention? Yes. Do I play up my mild depression for attention? Yes. Do you know how difficult it is for me to admit this? Probably not. Do you know how shitty it makes me feel? I doubt it.

Let's move on to the second part of the issue. Am I scared of being happy? This is troublesome. Because I don't know. It's true - I've dealt with the depression for so long . . .my whole life, honestly. But I had ups and downs, times where I was relatively happy. Times where I wasn't depressed. That being said, this past year has been hellacious. I've spent most of the past year either horribly depressed or in a mixed episode. It's what I'm used to. It's familiar. So might I be scared to feel good? Hell yes. I'm not sure what it feels like anymore. It's been too long. I have days, days where I do feel happy and good and okay. And yes, those days scare me. I wonder when the crash will come. If I feel really good, I automatically wonder if I'm starting to swing the other way - mania.

My thinking about it is fucked up. I don't know what to think. How I should feel. So when I feel okay, I second guess myself. It's not what I'm used to. Conditioned to. I think I should still feel bad. That I've felt so bad for so long that I can't possibly feel good - it's not in the cards. I never will. In this respect am I sabotaging myself? I guess yes, I could be. But how? How the actual fuck am I doing it? I can't find any triggers. Nothing. No trigger for last Thursday, no matter how hard I look. And if I'm doing this, it's obviously for attention. The only thing I can think of. Attention from J. From Dr. C. From M. That I don't want to lose the attention I'm getting from them. If I feel better, I won't see Dr. C as often. If I feel better, I won't have weekly or bi-weekly therapy sessions with M. I won't get as much attention from J. I won't get a pass from doing housework sometimes because "I'm depressed and have no energy". All of these things . . .

I can see how this is plausible. Part of me even believes it. Part of me fights this thinking tooth and nail. Why? What a horrible thought. What a horrible truth. I making myself sick, suicidal, because I want attention. That would be something that no one wants to admit to. Myself included.

But the possibility is there. My fucked up personality, whether a result of ACOA or not, is causing a detrimental worsening of my bipolar symptoms. Is causing me to become suicidal for attention.

I don't quite believe it. And I have to think more about it. And talk with J and talk with M and write and explore and figure out what's going on. Between my bipolar disorder, my fucked up personality and my ACOA traits . . .I have my work cut out for me.

And damn this post turned out to be long.

I'm not sure what to say

I want to write but I'm not sure what to say. That's a lie - I know what I want to say, I just can't do it now. I want to talk about my ACOA. I want to talk about my previous post and the cutting and my therapy session and the other things racing through my mind but I don't know how to say it right now. I'm not sure how to express it. I don't know exactly what to say or how to say it.

There's so many things on my mind at the moment, all these thoughts racing around, jostling for a position. I have a lot of things to sort out. A lot of things I'm thinking about - some bad, some good. Some things that I don't want to think about. But I am. I'm trying to sort things out. Over the next days and weeks and possibly months.

There will be plenty more coming. You can expect that. I just don't know what will be coming. And now I'm going to bed. Busy day at the baby factory, and another one tomorrow. And I'm tired. All these racing thoughts. They keep me up at night.

I am an Adult Child of an Alcoholic

 Warning: This post is long. Virtually a novel. Well, maybe not quite that long . . .you get the picture.

I am an adult child of an alcoholic. That's a very strange statement, isn't it? And "adult child"? What does that mean, exactly? Well, I'm an adult, and I grew up as the child of an alcoholic parent. Until I started therapy, I had never heard this terminology, this phrase. I had no idea what it was or what it meant. At the suggestion of my therapist, M, I looked it up. Even bought a book on the subject, read it, and apparently didn't give it much thought. I don't know why I didn't.

But now, with all of the "issues" I've been having lately, and setbacks, and depression, and anger and feelings of emptiness, M suggested I look it up again. To really pay attention to it and maybe, just maybe, I'd gain some insight into my behavior and thoughts. I'm always up for a little insight, so I figured yes! Why not? I'll gain all the insight! And so I looked it up, I began reading, and I began noticing how I so perfectly fit the description of an adult child of an alcoholic.

I'd like to start with some background information. Just some basic stuff. My mom is an alcoholic. She's been one for as long as I can remember. Seriously. One of my earliest memories (I think I was 5) is of her passed out on the floor. I was terrified because I didn't know what was wrong. My brother (who was 3 at the time) and I kept trying to wake her, shaking her frantically, crying. She'd come to long enough to tell us she'd get up only if we stopped crying. My brother and I tried - we would go into the bathroom and calm down, wipe away our tears and try and be brave and the minute we saw her on the floor . . .the tears would come again and we couldn't move her or get her to talk or do anything except cry and worry. I think we both slept on the floor next to her because we didn't know what else to do.  

She drank most nights. Always Skoll vodka mixed with kool-aid. And she hid it. Under the kitchen sink. Under the bathroom sink. In a coat pocket in her closet. Anywhere she thought we wouldn't find it. She lied about it. Tried to convince us (and herself, I'm sure) that she wasn't drinking, she wasn't an alcoholic. We all knew the truth though. It was the elephant in the room we weren't supposed to talk about. Other family members weren't supposed to know. Shhh, it's a secret.

We never knew what mom we were going to have on any given night. Depressed, withdrawn mom? Angry, intolerant mom? Giddy, giggly, annoying mom? Roll the dice, take your pick. Not that it mattered, anyway. Sometimes she was all three depending on how much she drank. All we knew was that it was never consistent - we always had to be on our toes. And as we got older, we had to worry about the phone calls. She had, I believe, two DUIs and totaled one car. When she was in the hospital, and the police called, I didn't believe them. I didn't know what to do. And I couldn't drive -  I had to wait until my step-dad got home to go and pick her up. 

And there's so much more to write about it. I could fill pages and pages about the fights, the promises broken (so many promises), the feelings of hate and guilt and loathing and powerlessness to do anything to change the situation. I could fill pages about how going to my dad's house on the weekends was a vacation for me, where I could be myself and be happy and not have to worry about if my mom was okay. I could fill pages about my current struggle with her in trying to create a mother-daughter relationship. I could . . .but I won't. At least not here. This post is going to be long enough as it is.

The last thing I do want to mention, however, is that despite the drinking and lies and broken promises, my mom did everything she could to provide for my brother and I. She did everything in her power to give us everything we needed and wanted (if she was able). Despite her drinking, I love her. Despite her drinking, I think she was a good mother. And I say these things for a few reasons. One, because they're true. And two, because my mom isn't a monster - she didn't set out to "harm" us with her drinking. She's an alcoholic - alcoholism is a disease, and one that can be brutally hard to recover from. I honestly don't know why she started to drink - according to my step-mom, it was before her and my dad were divorced. But I'm not sure. 

As a result of growing up in an alcoholic home, many children of alcoholics develop similar characteristics and personality traits. In 1983, Dr. Jan G. Woititz wrote the book, Adult Children of Alcoholics, in which she outlined 13 characteristics of adult children.

Below are the 13 characteristics of adult children of alcoholics (ACOA). Below each characteristic, I'll write about how it pertains to me - or at least I'll try to. This is where a lot of soul searching had to be done. And, perhaps, some ugly truths faced.


1. Adult children of alcoholics guess at what normal behavior is.
The home of an alcoholic or addict is not "normal." Life revolves around the addict and most family members must learn to keep their family going, as they know it. Children of alcoholic or drug-addicted parents do not live the same life as their "normal" peers. Therefore, the child and later the adult must simply do their best at maintaining normalcy, as observed from friends, television, or simply guessing.

This one . . .this one yes. I always felt like an outcast - I still do. I don't feel "normal". I didn't have a normal childhood. I had to worry about my mom constantly - how much was she going to drink tonight? Is she going to pass out? Do I need to get her into bed? Is she going to drive? I would worry and have to hide that worry. The few friends I did had never came over to my house - what would they think if they saw my mom? I'd pretend everything was okay, and tell lies. I still even do this into adulthood - although I do it a lot less now. I would sit embarrassed at family dinners with my in-laws or whomever because of my mom's behavior. I'd ignore it, try to explain it away . . .anything. I didn't know how a mother-daughter relationship should be. I still don't. I see it with my friends, but I don't have it. 

This has carried over into other aspects of my life. Virtually everything I am or I do or I say feels . . .false. Not that I'm lying or trying to be false or anything like that - I simply don't feel like I fit in - anywhere. I've always been the "weird" one, the "funny" or "sarcastic" one. I'm described with these terms as well as odd, awkward, inappropriate, strange, off and many others. I try to wear these terms as badges of honor when in reality they make me feel less than human - even more of an outcast. (not all the terms are bad - but you get the idea).  

This has caused some social anxiety as well. Without really knowing how to act, well, what if I say something wrong? What if I act strangely? What if my home life is different than theirs? I don't know. I just feel different. In so many ways.
 
2. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty following a project through from beginning to end.
In the home of an addict, daily living is frequently interrupted due to misbehavior or unpredictable actions of the addict. For example, the family may start playing a game, but then dad comes home and everyone must stop playing. Or maybe mom promised to help work on a school project, but then passes out and never follows through. When project completion and follow-through are not consistently modeled, it is a hard skill for the adult child of an alcoholic to learn.

I'm not so sure that #2 affects me that much. If anything, I'm a bit frantic trying to finish things. I've tried my best to be vigilant about what I'm doing, are there deadlines to keep, is there some way I could do this better or faster? I was neurotic about this in school, I'm neurotic about this in my profession, and I'm neurotic about it in my artwork. Maybe it's because I had to finish some things that my mom didn't. Maybe it's because despite her drinking every night, my mom still held down a difficult job with the government and went back to school for her degree. Maybe it's all of that and more.
 
3. Adult children of alcoholics lie when it would be just as easy to tell the truth. As a child of an alcoholic or addict, one must constantly lie and make up excuses for the addicted parent. The child also hears the parent and everyone else in the family lie and make up stories constantly. This behavior is a necessity to keep the addict family intact, and therefore becomes a natural trait. Once the child acquires this behavior, it tends to stay with the adult child.
These lies are not always malicious or harmful. Something as simple as the route the ACOA took home, or what type of fruit they like is fair game for lies. Unless the child or adult receives enough consequences (either internal, like guilt or anxiety; or external, like getting in trouble with someone), the ACOA may begin to practice the art of telling the truth more.

This one is tough. This one . . .this one I don't want to admit. At. All. But it's true. And it's difficult for me to admit that. It is. I know I lied all the time as a child. About everything. Home life, school life, friends, everything. Talking to me you'd think I was on top of the world and had tons of friends. Reality? I was not, and I had no friends. And I got good at lying. Scarily good. 

I've tried my best to break this habit in my adult life, and I'd say I've done a fairly good job. Most of my lies now are about money - nothing big, but a lie none the less (like saying I sent a bill out when I really forgot to and it's crammed in my purse so I can send it out the next day without J finding out, or neglecting to tell him that I spent money on something and waiting for him to ask - of course I "forgot" to tell him). I still lie about my mom from time to time. And I lie all the time about how I'm feeling - it's much easier to lie about that than tell the truth.

This causes a lot of guilty feelings in me. Especially now that I'm admitting it and examining it. I don't want to lie - especially about small stupid things that make no sense to lie about. I understand the origin of it, I understand the why, and now I need to stop. 
 
4. Adult children of alcoholics judge themselves without mercy.
No matter what the child of an alcoholic or addict does, they cannot "fix" their parent or their family. They may be able to take care of the addict or other members of the family, but they are unable to fix the root of the problem: the addiction and relating family dysfunction. No matter how well the child does is soccer, how high their school grades, no matter how clean they keep the house, how "good" they are, they still can't fix the addict. Everything they do falls short.
Additionally, the child of an alcoholic or addict may blame him/herself for bad things that happen in the family, and are frequently guilt-ridden for reasons beyond their control. Perfectionism is very common in ACOAs.

Guilty. I've always thought everything I've done falls short - and I still do. I struggle with this day to day. I was always a perfectionist in school - I did everything I could to get good grades, to achieve. The only thing I didn't do in school was sports or band or anything like that - low self esteem +no friends+"weird"=not feeling comfortable doing anything like that. I worked. I started work when I was 16. I payed for everything myself - car, insurance, clothes . . .I payed for college myself. I wanted the burden taken off my mom. I took extra classes, I volunteered. 

And nothing helped. Home life was still the same. Nothing changed no matter what. And I did feel guilty about this. I felt that I failed my mom. I tried talking to her. Tried getting her to go to AA meetings. If I could do so well, surely she could to. But it never happened. No matter how hard I tired. No matter how well I did.

To this day I'm very judgmental of myself. How I look (I'm always too fat, my clothes don't fit right, etc. despite what everyone tells me), my artwork isn't good enough (and when I get praise, I don't take it well - I assume the person is just trying to be nice), being a mother (I always feel like I could be doing so much more), as a wife (Again, I could do so much more). The list goes on and on. I'm my own worst enemy.
 
5. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty having fun.
Growing up with an addicted parent is not fun. Kids are not allowed to be kids. When the kids are not given this joy, the adult usually does not know how to simply enjoy life. The ACOA is constantly worrying about their addicted parent, or is in trouble for things they should not be responsible for, or compensating in some other way for the addict. The usually carefree, fun time of being a child often does not exist if the parent is an addict.
The addict is the "child" in the relationship. Because of this, the child does not know how to be a child.

Number 5 is a bit difficult for me. I know a lot of the time I was worrying about my mom, lying for her . . .but I did get to act like a kid. Going to my dad's house was always a release for me. Though, thinking about it, my step-mom told me that Saturdays I was always tense and withdrawn and didn't act like myself but by Sunday I was a happy, carefree kid. So maybe I didn't act as much like a kid as I thought. I remember sleepovers with friends (always my brothers friends, who were the only kids I typically became friends with), playing video games, football outside . . . so yeah. Kid stuff. 

I'd say I had a difficult time just "letting go". Just being in the moment and enjoying it. And I know . . .I know this is an issue I struggle with now - more so in the past year. I can't just "let go" and have fun. I have to worry and fret over everything. I have to worry about how I'll feel tomorrow or next week or when I'll have another depressive episode or if I'm going to be mixed or hypomanic. I can't be in the moment. I need to. I truly need to. I just can't seem to figure out how.
 
6. Adult children of alcoholics take themselves very seriously.
Due to the gravity of their roles in their families growing up, adult children of alcoholics take themselves very seriously. The weight of the family, and thus the world, is on their shoulders.

Sometimes, yes. I feel responsible for a lot of things. I have to do it all. I don't ask for help - to a fault. I try not to take things seriously, but I do sometimes. I can get in the habit of over-reacting to the littlest things and sometimes fail to see the humor in a situation. And humor is something I possess (let's be honest, I've had numerous people tell me I should do stand up comedy), so to not be able to see the humor in a situation . . .well that's quite a blow. And I've been taking things more seriously lately.

With having had two major depressive episodes in the past year - both with very close suicide attempts - it seems I've almost had to be more serious. Which does tend to go against how I usually am. I should be able to make light of it, make some morbid joke of it. And in time, maybe I'll be able to 
 
7. Adult children of alcoholics have difficulty with intimate relationships.
Having never known a "normal" relationship or family roles, the ACOA does not know how to have one. The adult child of an addict does not trust others. The ACOA has learned that people are not trustworthy or reliable, and has had their heart broken from such an early age.
New relationships must be handled with caution, too, because the child of an alcoholic doesn't want others to find out their secret. Adult children of alcoholics have learned to shut themselves off from others to protect their feelings, as well as to protect their family.

When first entering a relationship I would say this holds true. I have a hard time with this though - on the one hand, I have a hard time coming to trust people, and on the other, sometimes I share way too much, way too fast (I blame that on the bipolar disorder - I have a hard time with boundaries and using my "filters"). One thing I've noticed is that I expect to be let down. With friends, family, most people . . .And this gets reinforced when, let's say, a plan falls through or any number of small infractions occur. I do tend to isolate myself because of this.
 
8. Adult children of alcoholics overreact to changes over which they have no control.
The child of an alcoholic/addict lacks control over their lives much of the time. They cannot control when their parent is drunk, or that the parent is an addict to begin with. S/he cannot always predict what will happen from one day to the next, and this is very anxiety producing. A child needs to feel safe. Because of this lack of control as a child, the adult child of an alcoholic/addict craves control. They need to know what is going to happen, how it is going to happen, and when.
Of course, this control and predictability is not always possible. If plans are changed, or somebody does something that the ACOA doesn't like or feel comfortable with, all the insecurity of their childhood may come back to them, and the adult child may over-react, leaving the other party stunned or confused.

Oh my. Yes. I want to be in control. I don't like feeling out of control, I don't like when someone or something takes control away from me . . .no. If something doesn't go my way I'm libel to throw a tantrum or yell or act rude and snippy. I feel stressed and anxious though I do everything I can to hide those feelings.

I like having my days planned out. I know what I'm going to do, and when I'm going to do it. Don't throw a wrench in that plan. Just . . .don't. If I'm scheduled to work, and end up getting called off, it's rough. I planned to work. Now I have nothing planned, nothing to do. My overreaction to this is usually a depressive mood - or overt anger. Situations arise like this all the time. And it can be the smallest, silliest thing that doesn't go my way and it's the end of the world. Completely ridiculous things like J is driving and he's not in the lane that I would be in and I can't make him change lanes and so I get anxious and annoyed and try to silently will him to switch lanes because I don't want to sound like an ass-waffle by telling him to do so. 

I like the control. I like the predictability. I'd even go so far as to say that I'm not a fan of spontaneity.
  
9. Adult children of alcoholics constantly seek approval and affirmation.
Similar to ACOA characteristic number four, children of alcoholics and addicts are used to continuously seeking approval or praise from their parent or other valued person. They probably did not grow up with a regular and consistent rules and expectations, and could never make their addicted parent happy.
Not knowing what is "normal" or expected, adult children of alcoholics need someone to tell them what they are doing is right. They are often indecisive and unsure of themselves.

I certainly seek approval. All. The. Time. And for everything. Even the little things like doing the dishes. I'll point out that I did them so J can say "thank you". I want the recognition that I did something. I need that recognition. I want and need praise for doing things like housework, cooking, paying bills, even though J and I share these responsibilities equally. When I don't receive the recognition or praise I feel . . .slighted somehow. I take it as a personal insult. What did I do wrong? How can I do better? Is J mad at me?

And it's the same with everything. At work, with friends. I don't want to make people mad. I don't want to rock the boat. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I think I do this more so with J than with anyone else. I'll seek approval from my managers from time to time, but I try and do it in a round about way.

Indecisiveness is often my middle name. I'll waffle on where to eat or what to do in the evening. Even on which store to go grocery shopping at. Don't get me wrong - I can make a snap decision when needed (for example, resuscitating a baby or, for some reason, buying a house), but the small things . . .those get me. And I know it's annoying to the people around me - especially J (at least I'm assuming so). And, try as I might, I can't seem to change that.

 10. Adult children of alcoholics usually feel that they are different from other people.
Another overlap with other characteristics, children of alcoholics sometimes know from an early age that their home is not normal. Children from addicted families may or may not know what is different, and sometimes don't completely "get it" until they visit friend's houses and observe their parents. 'Hey... Janie's mom makes her do her homework until she is finished, and they have dinner at this time, and then they have to go to bed at 9. Every night!" This consistency may be shocking, and either attacks or appalls the child who is not used to such structure.

I've always felt different from other people. Always. I don't think I've ever felt "normal". It's been this . . .I even know know how to describe it. Like this black void that follows me around, like I'm missing something. Like part of me is gone. And even that's not quite it. I feel like I hide so much, that so often I'm fake in how I relate to people. I try to act how I think I should act - not how I may be feeling or thinking or experiencing. It's all a play (which, incidentally, goes along with my hiding my bipolar moods).

I marvel at how other people can move through their lives seemingly without thinking about their every move. "Is it normal to say this? Or think that? Will they think I'm abnormal if I do this?" I listen to my friends and coworkers carry on with their stories, so happy and oblivious to how difficult it is for me to even speak. Because I may say the wrong thing because I don't know how to act. I've been described as "socially awkward". I've even joked that that's how I should introduce myself - "Hi! My name is Cami and I'm socially awkward." Sometimes I think I should.

I have trouble opening up to people because of this. Meeting new people and having to talk, to carry on a conversation often brutal. The other night I had dinner at a friend's house. Her and her husband were there, along with another friend and her husband. Which is usually okay. But my friend H had another of her friends over - one whom I hadn't met - and I nearly froze. I didn't know how I should approach the situation. It should be easy. Talk. Share things about yourself. Interact. Why is that so bloody hard? I floundered. I was quiet at times. I tried to find a common ground - something we could talk about - and I just couldn't quite do it. I wanted to hide. I wanted to leave. I didn't know what to do or what to say and I felt ashamed of myself for being so me.

I don't fit in. I don't belong. I've always been the weird one, the strange one. I've always been the funny one and sarcastic one, which are good traits I guess, but I've always been an outcast. In school I was shunned and ignored, as if people knew I was hiding something. I'm sure that was only my perception, but the feeling was prevalent.

And that black void follows me to this day. I can't shake it - I don't feel I ever will. No matter how much people tell me otherwise. I'm missing something. Whatever it was or is, it's gone.

11. Adult children of alcoholics are super responsible or super irresponsible.
Once the child from an addicted family gets older and forms their own identity, the ACOA may either strictly follow a schedule and wants everything in order, controlled- perfect. These adult children often struggle with anxiety, OCD, perfectionism, and eating disorders.
The opposite result is the ACOA who is a party animal. This adult child may develop an alcohol, drug, or other behavioral addiction. This ACOA may live a life very much like their addicted parent, or they may "shape up" and get their life together, with appropriate support.

I am the super responsible one. Good grades in high school and college. A BA in biology, BS in nursing, married, house, son, ducks lined up in a row. I've never been in trouble with the law, never done drugs. I actually did drink for awhile - about 3-4 years from ages 19-23, only on weekends. The typical young person thing to do. I like things ordered. I have little quirks that are a little OCD (the toilet paper goes over the roll - if I'm at your house and it doesn't, don't worry - I'll change it for you). At work I have certain ways I do things, certain steps that I take, in order. I hate when things don't go as planned. I like predictability. I want to know what I'm doing each day and if something changes I'm liable to fall apart.

My brother, on the other hand, was the irresponsible one. He  partied, experimented with drugs, got several DUIs, dropped out of college . . . It's interesting that we went the opposite way with this. Luckily he did manage to "get his life together" and is doing quite well.

12. Adult children of alcoholics are extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that the loyalty is undeserved.
"Why do you put up with him?" Adult children of alcoholics/addicts are used to dealing with just that- an addict. They are used to either taking care of an addict or seeing others take care of an addict. Drunken fights and broken promises is normal to the ACOA. Growing up, the child of an alcoholic was probably told "it isn't his fault" or "he didn't mean it, he was drunk."
Because of these lowered expectations, an adult child of an alcoholic/addict frequently ends up in a relationship with another addict, abusive partners, or otherwise unhealthy relationships.

Growing up with an alcoholic parent actually made me do the opposite - I wanted nothing to do with people who drank. I wanted no part of it. I was so sick of dealing with everything with my mom that the thought of doing that with a boyfriend or husband was not an option.

I did, however, run into issues in a different manner. I was in an abusive relationship and found myself making up excuses for the abuse ( he really loves me, I must have done something wrong). For a brief time I tried defending him and then it was convincing myself that his behavior was normal. After 3 years I knew something was wrong but didn't have the courage to leave for another year.

13. Adult children of alcoholics are impulsive. They tend to lock themselves into a course of action without giving serious consideration to alternative behaviors or possible consequences. This impulsively leads to confusion, self-loathing and loss of control over their environment. In addition, they spend an excessive amount of energy cleaning up the mess.
The last trait is fairly self descriptive. The ACOA will struggle with falling into unhealthy patterns of behavior, in whatever form it might take.

Yes, I can be very impulsive. And impatient. And selfish. Once I get my mind set on something you better get out of the way. J and I can be at the flea market and someone is selling puppies. Well, we're getting one. I don't care if we have a dog (who dislikes other dogs) and we don't have the time, that puppy is damn cute and we're getting it! J, thank God, is the voice of reason and takes over. We're at a grocery store and they're sampling cheesecake. We're going to buy all the cheesecake! I don't care if we don't need it and they're $13 each. We're buying the cheesecake. I'm becoming bored with my job and am thinking about changing the area I work in. Oh, there's a job posting for a day shift in an area I'm not sure I'll like? Screw it! I'm applying!

You get the point. I do this with so many different things. And I get impatient and almost frantic about my decisions and can become very selfish and only think about what I want. I don't care what anyone else says or thinks or feels at that moment - the only thing that matters is my one-track mind and the decision I made. Sometimes this has lead to arguments because I'll do something without talking it over with J (like spending money). And I always feel like crap afterwards. And I have to try and make amends and I feel like an idiot and am left wondering why I ever did it in the first place. And that's not a fun place to be.


The next 14 characteristics are taken from the ACOA World Service Organization. Many of them are the same as above, but there are a few that are different. The ones that are similar, I'm not going to write about as it's covered above. The ones that are different, obviously, I'll be writing about.


 1. We became isolated and afraid of people and authority figures.

I was never aware of this aspect until later in life - most notably in the past few months. That's not to say it wasn't there - I think it always was - I just never acknowledged it. Let's start with my past though - seems like the logical way to go.

 

Growing up I was always shy (and yes, I've always known that). I never said much, especially in social situations. Even when with friends say, during lunch in high school, I could barely talk. I worried about what they would think and I was nervous and uncomfortable. It took me a very long time to come out of my shell, so to speak. I was okay speaking with teachers, most of the time, but my hands would get clammy and my heart would race. I was this way when I started working, as well, and it was only after I had been at my job around 2 years that I started to open up.

 

I truly started opening up when I started college. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that what started this openess, this willingness to talk and interact, was a manic episode and alcohol use. I was with my ex, hanging out with his friends, and partying . . .and then you throw in the hypomania . . .well, I became a bit overzealous at times. Maybe the experience served me well - I made friends, I had more fun, I had less anxiety (at least in the case of interacting with people - my relationship with my ex is another story).

 

I think I had a period of time where I wasn't as shy, wasn't as anxious. I became outgoing, inappropriate, loud, trying to be the center of attention. The big part of course was the innapropriateness (let's be honest - I had no idea how I should act). After my son was born, I started to become more withdrawn again. J and I would be at a store or something and I would want to know the price of something - I was too nervous to go and ask. If I was told something (like needed car repairs) I would go along with what was said because I couldn't stand confrontation.

 

And in the last year, since my near suicide attempt, it's become much worse. But not in all areas. At work I'm the picture of confidence and authority. I know my job, I know it well, I'll bark orders during a code and take control. No anxiety interacticg with patients or doctors (in fact, I like to boss the doctors around). But in my personal life, not so much. When J and I hang out with friends - very good friends - I have a hard time opening up. I feel like I can't relate and I'm quiet and all I can think about is leaving. J has a huge family and at get-togethers (most notably last Christmas and this thanksgiving) I can barely manage. I become excedingly withdrawn and tend to either stay by myself or stay by J's side. I feel overwhelmed and want to leave, leave NOW. But I can't. And I go to the bathroom a lot so I can hide for a few minutes. And I'm surprisingly NOT ashamed to say that I'm glad I work this Christmas - that way I don't have to go through the uncomfortable, suffocating anxiety that I experience there.

 

 2. We became approval seekers and lost our identity in the process.

This is similar to one above.

 

3. We are frightened of angry people and any personal criticism.

 I really, really hate angry people. I'm certain that their anger is either directed at me, or caused by me. No matter what the issue is. This is especially bad with J. I'm convinced that any time he is upset or blah or mad or anything that it's because of me. It's all my fault. And I try desperately to find out what's wrong, what I did, and how can I make it right. 

I do take criticism poorly. I hate to be criticized. I take it as a personal attack and that it means the person thinks less of me or dislikes me or I must have done something wrong. It could be criticism about how I fold laundry or something completely stupid and I get defensive, angry and upset. Even if it's jokingly and I know it's jokingly, I don't take it well. I overreact and either get upset or mad. Sometimes to the point of completely shutting down.

 

 4. We either become alcoholics, marry them or both, or find another compulsive personality such as a workaholic to fulfill our sick abandonment needs.

No. Sort of addressed above, but definitely not. I don't drink, J doesn't drink, our friends don't drink. And I don't think anyone in my life has any type of compulsive personality. Apparently I wanted to buck the trend with this one. Probably because I didn't want to follow in the footsteps of my mom.

 

5. We live life from the viewpoint of victims and we are attracted by that weakness in our love and friendship relationships

 This one has got to be the hardest for me to write about. The most difficult to acknowledge. To myself. To anyone. You see, I like to think of myself as strong. I've been through a lot. A lot. And I've always been adament that this or that didn't bother me. That I didn't dwell on the past or even recent issues.
 

And that is a complete lie.
 

Do you know how difficult it is for me to admit that? How much it physically and emotionally pains me? And I'm not being dramatic - I'm being dead serious. This goes against everything that I make myself out to be. Everything. I'm not a weak person. I don't want people's sympathy or attention or anything. 
 

And yet I do. And yet I crave it. And I loathe myself for that. I'm embarassed by it. I'm so distressed by that that I'm tearing up just typing this. I don't want to be a victim and yet that's exactly what I am. I'm a victim of my circumstance, my past, my upbringing, my bipolar disorder. As much as I attest that I'm not - that's exactly what I am.
 

I do things subconsciously . . .and yet it's not subcouscious because on some level I'm aware of what I'm doing. When I started talking about my rape and abuse from my ex I was truly distressed by it. Honest to God distressed about it. But I played it up a little. Maybe acted a little more distressed than I was. Maybe a little more dramatic when I talked to J about it or talked to my two closest friends about it. Of course, I'm not a victim so I made sure that they knew that - even though I was very much playing the role. Maybe I needed the attention, the support, the affirmation that I truly had gone through something traumatic.
 

But, as J pointed out, I had kept that all burried for 12 years and it hadn't bothered me at all in that 12 years. Why was I making such a big fuss over it now? I don't know. I don't know why. Because I don't want to be the victim but I want the attention of being the victim. And I hate this. I hate this about myself. I'm suppossed to be strong and push on.
 

But I don't. And with this exercise, with me very honestly looking at my behavior, I've noticed things I have't acknowledged before. Another thing I've noticed is using my bipolar disorder as a crutch. A crutch for my behavior, for whatever. But I don't do it often (thank God), and I want to stop that before I do. And I keep going back to why the hell am I doing so horribly this year with the depression and mixed episodes and the stupid thing is that I know why and I've written aobut why but I still don't accept it. And I see this cycle over the past year and I see things moving in the same direction with continuous bouts of depression and not getting better and then I wallow and I dwell on everything and I become a victim and slave to my bipolar disorder. And apparently it causes me to write long run on sentences.
 

The point is, regardless of how much I do not want to be a victim, I very much am one. This is a new view of myself - one that I neither wanted to admit to myself or anyone. And now I don't know what to do. I don't know how to change or move forward or stop the behavior. And I want to stop. I don't want to be the victim anymore.

 

6. We have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and it is easier for us to be concerned with others rather than ourselves; this enables us not to look too closely at our own faults, etc. 

When I look back, I'm not sure how much this applies to me. I now that now I do tend to take more responsibility and I think I'm more concerned with others, but I'm not entirely sure. Sounds a bit wishy washy doesn't it? See, I tend to put others ahead of myself, sometimes to a fault maybe, but this one is difficult for me. 
 

And I'm thinking now, trying to come up with examples and what I see is I did put my ex ahead of me - big time. He was always first. I didn't do it that much with friends to be honest. I put my mom ahead of myself - tending to her and worrying about her when I needed the attention. But this is about all I can think of. I hoestly believe that J would describe me as selfish now. That I've been doing more things for myself rather than for our family. I'll spend several hours painting instead of doing housework or paying bills or running errands. When I have money in my paypal account from Etsy sales I'll spend it on me rather than on the family. I want what I want and I want it now. Who knows - maybe I've become this way because of how my past has been.

 

 7. We get guilt feelings when we stand up for ourselves instead of giving in to others.

  This one is up in the air. I don't get guilty when I stand up to others. One, I rarely do it, and two, I only do it if I have a valid point to make (otherwise I'll tend to defer). Now, if I don't give in to something or someone, I can feel guilty. J might want to do one thing and I might want to do another, but I'll go along with what he wants to avoid feeling guilty and to avoid hurting his feelings (although most likely his feelings wouldn't get hurt).

 

 8. We became addicted to excitement

This one is quite interesting. I am an adrenaline junky. Not to the extent of most - I don't play risky sports or go skydiving or anything like that. But at work . . .boy howdy. Resuscitating a baby? Oh my God yes please? Code on an adult? I'm there in seconds. Post-partum hemorrhage? Let me in there. Stat c-section? Please? May I go? My coworkers think I'm crazy for this, but I absolutely love it. You know what else I love? Tea. That fact is irrelevant but I figured I'd throw it in for fun.

I'm not sure why I'm so much in love with doing things like that. I don't know how that relates to growing up in an alcoholic home. If anyone knows, please enlighten me.

 9. We confuse love and pity and tend to "love" people we can "pity" and "rescue."

I'm not so sure I do this. I don't confuse love with pity. I don't pity my husband or friends or co-workers, and I love them (well, most of them). And the very few people I pity, I don't love. Maybe another one I'm bucking the trend on. 
 

10 .We have "stuffed" our feelings from our traumatic childhoods and have lost the ability to feel or express our feelings because it hurts so much (Denial).

I hid my trauma. I hid the drinking, I hid my abuse and rape, and I pretended that they didn't happen and didn't affect me. For awhile (a little over 12 years) I felt nothing about my rape. Had virtually forgot about it. I ignored my feelings about my childhood. I did deny that part of me. It's certainly much easier. 

But now that I started opening up about it, I can most certainly feel it. The feelings came flooding back and it was almost too much to bear. But besides all this, and before all this, I was still able to feel. I felt everything else except my past. 

 

11. We judge ourselves harshly and have a very low sense of self-esteem.

This one is addressed above.

 

12. We are dependent personalities who are terrified of abandonment and will do anything to hold on to a relationship in order not to experience painful abandonment feelings, which we received from living with sick people who were never there emotionally for us.

I've never considered myself as dependent, but when I think about it, I am. At least a little. I don't depend on most people - in fact, hardly any. And I think that this stems from the fact that growing up, I could only depend on myself. So in one aspect, I'm very stubbornly independent. 

And at the same time, I'm so very dependent on J. I would be lost without him. There's so much that he does that I wouldn't even know how to do or approach - I don't even like taking my own truck in for an oil change. If he weren't around, if our relationship faltered . . .I don't even know. I would try everything to keep us together, to keep him with me.

One thing I hate to admit, especially writing it here because he might read it, is how dependent on my therapist I've become. Obviously, he's helped me so much, more than he'll ever imagine, but I'm so terrified to not see him. What will I do then? It's strange, I had never seen a therapist in my life until last January. And now I can't imagine not seeing him. It makes me feel pathetic and stupid and like I can't take care of myself. And I can - I know I can - I've done it my entire life. It's just that I feel so much better after each session. I've learned so much, released so much tension and anger and bad feelings and memories and it helps me feel better about myself. And I look forward to it. And now . . .now I'm definitely dependent on it. And that truly does make me feel weak. Because I need it. Because I'm scared about not going. Because eventually, I won't be going every week or every two weeks or every month. Eventually I won't be going at all. Fuck.

 

13. Alcoholism is a family disease; and we became para-alcoholics and took on the characteristics of that disease even though we did not pick up the drink.

I'll be honest - I'm not exactly sure what this means. I mean, the statement says that I would take on some of the characteristics that my mom displayed, and that makes sense. I'm just having a hard time with this. I don't know which behaviors. Some of the above characteristics seem as though they could fall under this category. Others, not so much. And maybe there's a whole host of other traits that I might be exhibiting.

Thinking back on my mom's behavior, she lied, she yelled, she overreacted, she constantly felt sorry for herself and blamed her situation on external factors - sometimes vague, sometimes something that made absolutely no sense (in a drunken stupor one night she blamed her drinking on not receiving a paycheck from Disneyland from when she worked there as a teenager). She was often unreliable and uncaring and distant. She had three broken marriages and only the third I can remember. And she treated my step-dad like crap. He was the nicest man and she yelled at him and accused him of everything under the sun. I don't know how he put up with it as long as he did.

That was when she was drunk.

When she was sober (typically until around 6pm) she was caring and loving and interested in our school work and our days. She could be fun and I could joke with her and feel close. She took very good care of us as we grew up, despite her drinking. There was such an opposite in her behavior from daytime to drinking time.

I think I try to emulate her good characteristics. Everything I wanted in my mom is what I try to be for my son. Seeing how she treated her ex-husband, I made a promise to myself that I would never treat my husband like that. Ever.

I don't know if I'd consider myself a para-alcoholic. Maybe in some ways, I guess, if any of the above numerous characteristics apply. But I'm trying my best to not be like her.

 

 14. Para-alcoholics are reactors rather than actors.

What? A nuclear reactor? Am I a nuclear reactor?

I'm assuming this means that rather than taking action, I react to a situation. Is that correct? I don't know. That's what I'm going with. 

So do I react, or act? Both, I think. I often do tend to sit on the sidelines, not making much of a fuss about anything. Jumping in when I need or want to. I'm very rarely the catalyst for anything. Almost a bystander to my own life. I've let opportunities pass me by because of low self esteem, feelings of inadequacy, not knowing what to do or say. I know I've done that. That would be reacting I suppose. 

But I can and will take action. I can be that "actor" in my life. Give me an emergency situation and I'm the one in charge, making things happen. Sadly, however, is how little I see myself doing this. Being the actor. Is it fear of confrontation? Fear of disappointment or letdown? I'm not quite sure.

I know this post is ridiculously long. Trust me - I know. It took me countless hours to write this and I've only just scratched the surface. I researched and thought about and contemplated everything. And I thought long and hard. I learned a lot about myself in the process. Including things that I didn't really want to know or admit or acknowledge, but that I needed to in order to be able to move on. To move on through recovery and my life. If I understand the things I don't like about myself, I can learn to change them. If I understand where many of my characteristics and behaviors come from, I can learn why I react a certain way or say or do certain things or have such strange feelings and always feel different and isolated. (and I can still write awesome run-on sentences). 

And even with as long as this post is, I still have so much more to learn. So much more to figure out. This is an ongoing process, one that most likely will take the rest of my life. I'm going to view that as a challenge. A challenge to learn more about myself. A challenge to learn to love myself a little more. And a challenge to change the aspects of me that I don't like and enhance the ones I do.

No doubt I'll be posting more on this in the weeks/months/years to come. And I look forward to doing so. And if you've read this whole post, you win the internet. Congratulations! You're the proud owner of the internet!

Now I'll leave you with this: a song by the amazing Amanda Palmer. It's called "In My Mind" and it's a wonderful song. The first time I heard it I cried. And then I listened again, and cried. It fits me so perfectly. Every word I can relate to. It's the first song in an very long time that has actually moved me. So enjoy it, please.