"You want a revolution, I want a revelation, so listen to my declaration..."
mental illness is constantly either demonized or romanticized by society and there is no space in that dichotomy for real people with mental illness to exist without feeling shamed and invalidated and that isn’t fair
My Mom showed her true colours on Christmas Day, at my house, in front of guests, in kind of a painful way towards me. For the first time in my life, I repeated the phrase, “she has a mental illness” in my head, while not reacting, because she wanted a reaction. She had been pushing for a fight with my Dad and when he wouldn’t give her one, she tried me, next, which is always the case, because I’m more like him than I am her. When my Dad spoke with me privately, as privately as he could, later that day, I repeated it to him: “she has a mental illness” and I added, “she does not see the world the same way as most people”. This goes for Christmas, especially. When you love a hoarder, it is an extremely difficult holiday, because they are happy with “things” and they don’t care so much about what you want, but they get you all these presents…. because their attachment to material objects makes them think that everyone has the same attachment, and to you, it’s just “stuff” and it represents their illness, not who you are as a person, and you have to deal with things you don’t want to keep because they’re not personal, they don’t mean anything and you didn’t like or need them to begin with, and that, too, becomes a fight. It is exhausting.
Under the surface, my Mom and Dad are currently embattled in a huge fight, all centered around this illness. To some people it would be charming, her love of all things. To us, it’s very exhausting. My Dad’s therapist, my therapist have all said the same thing: she needs to be in counseling and, that for the situation, he and I are remarkably well adjusted. Her going to counseling is the one thing that would make us happier than anything on this Earth, but it’s the one absolute no-no to ask, because she’s “not crazy” and even me going to a therapist is a hot button issue, because “they always blame everything on the mother”, according to her.
I didn’t mean to write a drama post… and apart from the relatively minor episode, my Christmas was a wonderful day, but more and more, I realize my Mom is mentally ill and there’s no real way to deal with her that will ever make all parties resolutely happy.
I got in trouble with a few people by saying that you make a choice to be happy or miserable, and, as hard nosed as that may seem, you do. You know when you’re going through a depression - when it’s hard to get out of the house, when you sink inside yourself, when it’s not easy to laugh, and you know, in this day and age how to get help. I’m not just talking pharmaceutically, but in general. My mom makes a conscious choice every damn day not to get help for a problem that has caused issues with all of her relationships, that endangers her marriage, that pushed me into decisions, as far as college was concerned that were unfair and hurtful. Choices and decisions she does not ever want to discuss with me, because she knows we would go head to head on these issues and she would hear extremely painful things about her illness. If she was married to any other man, other than my father, who loves her dearly, they would have separated by now or he would have just thrown out all of her junk at one point, which would have made her leave and file for divorce. And all any of us can honestly do is be there for each other, and offer support when we’re the one with the target on our backs because my mom, who has a wonderfully, amazing life, can’t see it, and has to find something to be pissed off about constantly.
This isn’t the same thing as living a life with a mom who is hard on you… living a life with a mom who is mentally ill, is a hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone on this Earth, because you grow up thinking so many negative thoughts about yourself, based on that illness… and some of those wounds only heal when you are lucky enough to find someone that sees through everything… wants to understand, and wants to apply kisses to the aches and bandages to the wounds, who isn’t afraid of the scars that open up again and again, deeper and deeper, but who lovingly stitches all the good things back up again.
My Mom deserves my compassion, and she gets it… but that compassion is sometimes incredibly draining…
We don’t teach society, on the whole, how to deal with the mentally ill… even in my family, where we see it everyday, we don’t handle it well all of the time.
(via daywhite)
(via sashastergiou)
- Hillary Clinton
(via caterinasforzas)
I think this may go for just straight up calling her a c–t, too….
(via barefootdramaturg)
(via greenisaverb)
I toasted two marshmallows at once, but only used one… when I went back to retrieve the other, it was gone…
Lexi currently has a bit of toasty marshmallow to the side of her mouth embedded in her hair… and when I asked her about it, she gave her default “I am ashamed” look… which is her looking to the side and repeated questions are met with the head down…she averts her eyes. Sometimes, when I’m angry with her because she’s done something she shouldn’t have, she looks at me with this precious look and it’s like she’s saying, “just beat me, Mom… I can take it… just hit me, because you being disappointed in me is worse than getting spanked."
(She NEVER gets spanked or hit, and she is one of the best behaved dogs - something most people comment on when they meet her, right after they offer to take her off my hands if I ever need anyone to…)
I guess I don’t have to ask if she likes marshmallows… I don’t think she likes how they get stuck in her hair, though…