I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Addiction, Anger, and Hope.

when addiction is involved

I really try to blog about twice a week, just because it's good for me, and I hate the thought of a visitor coming by to find at the top of the page that post which they read last. It's always so disappointing for me when the same happens on the blogs I follow. If I'm interested enough to go there, then I'm excited to read what they have to say! But I've been slipping lately.

I plan on writing a post about Books-A-Million and their Tea Party affiliation, but life has gotten in the way. It will come. I kept telling myself that would be my next post, and therefore wouldn't allow myself to write what I was feeling. I kept stalling. But no more. I'll go back to that in time, but for now, I have more pressing issues at hand. Following: the issues I take with my brother-in-law and my brother.

My brother-in-law has screwed up. Again. I love my sister, and I love her children, so I've been as kind as my patience allowed. But I'm reaching my breaking point. Patience with children is a skill I've worked very hard to develop within myself. Kindness to your partner is vital. And when you have dependents, it's important to take care of yourself. If you have a problem, then fix it. I have little tolerance for denial. Gambling away $2,000 in one night is not something to be taken lightly--good thing he's not my husband. Those are the things on my mind. Regardless of his douchebaggery towards me this semester. Which I'm not over, by the way. Even with the apology I never got, I'd take a while to move past that. Which is not a decision. Those are my feelings. Anyway. Regardless of that incident, I'm angry. I'm angry for my sister whom I love dearly. I'm angry for her life right now. When it rains, it pours. And she feels so strongly. That's part of what makes her such a good person--she can empathize. But it can break her. Carrying the weight of another can hurt so, so much. And now this? That was simply selfish on his part. I am done with him until he's gotten help and made the proper apologies to his family. Line=drawn.

Ian is hurting. I tend to distance myself from friends and family when it gets hard, because I don't want to be holding that hand when they slip... when they stop passing their windows. It scares me. And so I'd managed to "forget" about him. I'm not sure if intentional lack of consideration really counts as "forgetting" someone. I just stopped thinking about him. I refused to worry. What would come, would come. It is what it is.

But you can't really do that. No one can. I'm an expert and I couldn't do it for long. I'm going to take this part directly from my journal, because I don't think it's beneficial to me to write it all again.

We're out looking for him. On our way to Paris now. I brought Longbottom along, like a child, for some sort of security and comfort. I want something to hold if we don't bring him home. As a constant reminder of why I'm in this car, his socks and shoes are beside me. A cigarette is on the floor. Is he in Paris with no shoes? No one's talking much. Every time he disappeared before--every time he hurt himself--we talked about it. But there is a weighted silence in our throats. We're afraid to speak because someone may say that lifeless word: dead. He was alone this time. And somehow possibilities feel more possible when they're said aloud. 
A call from Paris. And it's Molly. Guilt in her tone. She did this. And so did Bonnie, and Jay, and Lindy... and he did it. He did it to himself. He did it to everyone. Barefoot. Broke. Hungover. Lost. No phone. No car. No... hope? But Mom: that's her word. That's her world. And I cannot deny her that. But I've denied it of myself.
We found him, bleary-eyed and sad in his trailer. And I was in some place between angry and relieved which is an uncomfortable mix of emotions. I kind of wanted to hug and hit him at the same time. I do love him. And I can't forget about him. And I just want happiness for him, and I know how foreign a feeling that is at the millionth dip; down, down. But he'll have it if he thinks he will. Happiness is a choice--it is not a circumstance. I kind of want to beat it into his head--like a physical understanding of what it feels like to love your life. I thought he was gone. He wasn't. We've another chance to fix it. And since I've stopped asking God to care, I'm going to pick up the slack. I will hold his demons in my capable heart, and I will defeat them. Kayla will defeat them. Mom will defeat them. Jim will defeat them. And Grandma will, too, even if she's a little hesitant. Happiness is a choice. But so is hope. I denied it of myself, and that hopelessness was unwarranted. I cannot do that again, because disappointment hurts only the blind while hopelessness is parallel to apathy. I'll keep my eyes wide open until we smash this mother fucker. Addiction be damned. I've taken the hope from you.
Addiction: It sucks
Anger: I've got it. And I'm kind of airing Darren's dirty laundry. But telling the truth should never bring shame. And so I have none.
Hope: Hear my message. Feel it. Because that was for me--I wrote it with no intentions of sharing it. But Mom's already made our story known, I've simply written subjectively. I brought emotion to what was information. This is for you now. It was mine, and I've made it yours, because so many of you have heartache. All of you do. No one lives without acquiring some demons. And I want you to know what it means to hope for something better. Because it's our job to make this place better. Have hope. Please have hope.

1 comment:

kyle gene said...

Hope. It's hard to have sometimes. It's hard to hold. But it beats the alternative by miles.