Living With Bi-Polar & BPD...
8 more days.....
8 more days til the first anniversary of my fathers
suicide. My stepmother came home from work to find him in
his recliner with the back of his head and part of his
face blown off. Dad wanted to make sure he had done a
thorough job and didn't want to live through it. He used
a 357 magnum.
I got the call at work and couldn't speak, let alone
move. Shell came and picked me up. Dad and I had been
estranged for a number of years although the last 18
months I had been trying to bring peace between us. Dad
refused it all. So I was at peace with him. No regrets.
That was a blessing. But I was devastated, to say the
My three brothers were there immediately, two of them
cleaning up after the police left and one of them support
for Freda, who refused to believe Dad had taken his own
life. Afterall, she was only 19 days from retirement and
they had such plans.
The thing was that Dad had great fun talking about them,
but knew in reality that he wouldn't be able to live them
out with her. His pulmonary problems were terrible and
his unmedicated illness had morphed into paranoia,
hallucinations and hearing voices. He wouldn't answer the
door if he was alone or the phone. And it only got worse
I was left out of a huge part of the decisions and
planning of the funeral. It was my stepmothers decision
and none of my siblings stood up for me and said that it
wasn't right, that I had a right to be there, no matter
what she thought. I tried to be a part of things, but all
my siblings left pertinent information out purposely to
honor her wishes. I was so shocked and upset.
They said that I should have been glad that I had the
information about the funeral. Do you believe that????
I hadn't been perfect, but none of them had the whole
story and I didn't think I owed them any explanation. If
they were going to believe a bitter, ill man without
realizing that there was perhaps another side that was
more accurate, that was their problem.
Their decision NOT to have any sibling loyalty changed my
position in the family forever. I don't know where I
belong anymore and none of them understood then, nor do
they understand now the damage that was done through that
experience. Something was stolen from me that week that
can never be given back and although I have forgiven them
their ignorance, I will never forget it. I can't. I just
can't get it out of my mind. I don't know that I ever
will. I pray that they never experience something like
that. But what goes around comes around, so they say....
They found a picture of Christ in Dad's wallet and that
threw a wrench in their plans for the funeral. They all
thought they knew Dad so well. They were completely
dumbfounded. I wasn't. Not at all. I always knew that
my Dad believed in the Lord, that he believed in the
goodness of the greater power. In the end, he just
couldn't bear the pain anymore. Something just got so big
that it couldn't be contained anymore in his head. If only
he had been treated for what was really wrong. If only
Freda had insisted on his being treated. If only Freda had
listened to those of us who knew the disease and knew that
Dad had real problems and needed help himself or done some
research herself instead of shoving everything under the
rug. If only, If only, If only.....
First Bi-Polar, Depression took my Fathers Mother, Gramma
12 years ago. She hung herself in a Nursing Home.
6 Years ago, my Fathers Nephew at 26. He hung himself in
his apartment the day after Easter.
And now my Father, May 28th, 2003.
I have a brother who is diagnosed and untreated, refusing
to take meds or see a therapist. He says he is fine and
can handle things on his own.
I am diagnosed, in treatment and on meds. I have vowed
NEVER to be a statistic or a suicide. I hate this mental
disease. I will never be a friend to it. I live in peace
with it now, having learned that it is the only way to
understand it. To know it's ways within my mind ~ you
have to. But I'll never befriend for it has taken too
much from me.
So 8 more days until the 1st anniversary of the death of
the man who called me CarrotTop when a baby and Daddy's
Lil China Cup when a Toddler and Daddy's Lil Girl when a
youth and one of Daddy's Best Friends in my late teens
into my 20's. Who cried when I found out I couldn't have
children. Who cried with me when my mother dumped him and
when my illness was at it's worst, couldn't forgive me my
trespasses when stable and was asking for a second chance
with him. Who died never knowing what a life he could
have had if he had just trusted ONE PERSON IN THIS WORLD.
Why couldn't that person have been me. I will forever cry
for the loss of this man and wish to see his face and
brown eyes smile at me one more time. Not saying that he
loved me ~ yet knowing that he does.
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