Posts Tagged ‘kids with parents with mental illness’

No one understand that whomever is up there hates me. It’s crazy for anybody to stick their necks out for me, because after all the misery I’ve caused… I’m not worth it. But everyone is so determined to be altruistic. They can’t… Won’t see that. God only knows the pain I am in. My failures to be “sane” is just more blame to be cut into my final tally. 

I have people who loved me, does that not count for something? The first rule of the universe, you watch out for number one. Soft emotions are just what your enemy uses against you. Friends, family… they all end up pawns in this Cosmic game of chess… and the secret to Life Is Knowing When to say “game over.” I don’t need to kill myself, quite soon I’ll be pulled into the negative sphere of my mind… and simply explode. I am already in terminal descent… farewell.

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Tomorrow morning I will be meeting my ARMS worker at Abbott Emergency room to go through the excruciating and frustrating process of trying to beds. Every time I have been hospitalized because of my PTSD it’s not safe for me to have a roommate. This is a big fear of mine that my wife has always been a strong advocate to ensure things go right. 

I have been in and out of the hospital 8 or 9 times in the past two years. The cycle ends up the same I am placed on a 72 hour hold I get in the hospital and have a breakdown because they lowered my prns then what they normally are. Now being heavily medicated the first two days is the only way to do it. So anyway the days pass I start to just want the fuck out of there so I lie and say all is good and they let me go. After 8 times maybe I am not doing something right, so we are going down the route of commitment to save myself from myself forcing me to fight it out and hope I leave with… hope. 

I am at the point of commitment because I can no longer care for myself, I was so depressed and when I found out my dad got my son a gun my mind immediately went to here is our way out. Long story short my dad looks for all his guns as I was trying to rush away and he ran out and took the gun from the car. I am now driving home with my son sleeping next to me without the comfort that soon I will be gone. I was angry I was upset I felt jaded yet again but driving four hours with my son and my thoughts I realized one of my motivations is I want my son to look up to me, and in my current state he has become more of a caretaker. I want to wake up in the morning and have my first thoughts of the day be one of hope and strength instead of death and despair. I have missed my set dates for departure several times. Perhaps I have some greater purpose buried beneath the rubble. 

I have a wonderful support group my wife, children, family, and those who become a family. It took losing unconditional love to discover what unconditional love is and appreciate those in my life who love unconditionally despite of my insanity I have a crew of people making sure I am all right. That alone is a gift many don’t have. My first attempt to seriously look at the problem get on the meds do the treatments whatever needs to be done so I can exit the womb of the mental hospital reborn into a better tomorrow. One can only hope. If I can I will journal during arts and crafts time to keep my progress posted… how narcissistic did that sound? I plan on writing during most of my free time. 

I figure if I can type a post as the time it takes another human being to make a macaroni necklace than perhaps I can use arts and crafts time to at least be able to free my mind all over the complicated interweb. 

My intended focus is to break down, analyze, and apply my methodology to three single events with the intended outcome of making the correct choice.

1. Do I stay or do I go? I have repeatedly replayed the same haunting moment of seeing my son still and quiet on his bike as he watched me get in the car to go to work. In that moment I could see in his eyes the internal conflict between acceptance and denial that his dad is slipping away. I could see and understand all too well the sadness he was trying so bravely to hide. 

As my mental state continues to deteriate, he now sees a dad who struggles with simple daily living activities. His bravery falls apart.

It is difficult for me to release my sadness and sorrow through the shedding of tears. The only time the outside world can see what I try so hard to hide, is when I cannot hold back my tears. At that moment, just as in this moment writing about it I cannot stop the tears. Many people say that crying is supposed to be this wonderful release of pent up emotions. It’s not like that for me. Tears feel like razor blades running down my face, slicing through self-denial and exposing my weakness and vulnerability. Regardless of how many times I have been told I am selfish and only think of myself, at the end of the day my meaning in life, and my purpose is to not break his heart. I am well aware I will never win the father of the year award. To be honest with you I don’t even know if I’m a good father. Despite what I am told I know I have always tried to be the best dad I could be. 

2.  Time holds no logical meaning anymore. Remembering the day, date, even what year it is. I destroy everything I touch. Answering the question I posed earlier… it is best to leave. As my depression gets worse so does my will to live. 

3.There are only so many pieces someone can be broken into before they are unable to be put back together. I now need to come to terms with the sobering reality that I will become in my own eyes everything I ever swore I wouldn’t. I will become my fathers son. I am desperately seeking, yet fear I will be unable to live with the guilt, or forgive myself.

4. Children are not stone, nor are they steel. They are dirt and clay, molded by the hands of experience. There is no way to reconcile the loss of my son’s happiness and hope due to the harsh reality of my life, which I have viciously infected upon my family. Despite my frequent mental transformations I made the decision to get married and have children; in that single moment I destroyed their lives. I suppose I was caught up in the perceived human need for significance, by my own sense of insecurity. Here is where I cannot deny my selfishness. Broken dolls are meant to walk alone.

In moments like this I want to hide within the minds of Soren Kierkegaard and Albert Camus covering myself in the blanket of Absurdism. Believing all struggles for life is for nothing. There is only birth and death, and everything in between is our feeble attempt to find meaning and purpose. This concept is wonderful, but in the back of my mind I’m burdened with this question. What if birth and death were only two points, that they were inconsequential compared to what happens between them?