This morning my mom told me I was selfish. She told me the world doesn’t work the way I think it does and I need to think about other people than myself.
Then she told me I need to get a new therapist. She said my therapist pushed all of the medication on me over the summer, which made me psychotic and placed me in the hospital.
She said she gave birth to me. She raised me. She knows me.
Meanwhile my therapist was trying to help me and get me out of my manic phase. I cut myself over the summer to get my moms attention and show her how much I was suffering from the manic phase (it was no longer fun after a two months). My therapist cried to a psychiatrist on the phone to try and get help for me because she was so worried.
My two best friends had to get involved with my parents and eventually could only coordinate with my dad about my wellbeing. My mom would no longer receive the true statements about my condition.
It’s funny because when I think back to my first manic episode, I think about all of the fun times. Celebrating my birthday for an entire month that a dozen different people believe they spent my actual birthday night with me. Making random friends every where and post-gaming into the early hours of the morning. Buying an insane amount of books and magazines, barnes and noble became my actual sanctuary. I think about the fun and excitement I had towards the world and it makes me nostalgic for that manic high.
But talking to my mom today made me remember how terrible it is for me to be in such a vulnerable mental-health position and have no support from the woman who gave birth to me and raised me. She doesn’t know me.
I count down the days until I can move away and no longer be semi-dependent on my mother. I can’t wait to tell her that I don’t want her in my life because I don’t want to be around someone who calls me selfish, while I am just trying to maintain my mental sanity.
Last fall I gave her the book, “An Unquiet Mind” by Kay Jamison. It’s one of my favorite bipolar book and recommend it to everyone, mental illness or not. My mom read the first few chapters and said that because Kay is a doctor, she supports pharmaceuticals and therefore, my mom thinks her opinion is tainted.
My mom wants me to learn how to live my bipolar life without the Lithium and without the Seroquel because all is does is “mask the symptoms” and that it’s “the easy way out”.
And at this point, the best things for me to say to her is that she can feel however she wants but it helps me and that’s all that matters, I’m not going to stop.
Happy Monday! I hope it’s a great start to the week!