Watch out, this is where I babble. My teenage years were a story and a half.
When I was 14, I lost 30 pounds between 8th grade and high school. I was so proud of the way I looked. I had even successfully found myself a boyfriend, met at a campground the summer before high school. My first long-distance relationship, before the days of the Internet. We wrote letters and he called me once a week. He was a nice guy, but he was 18 (and my mom liked him so she approved, he had strong morals) and while he had the maturity to handle our relationship, I didn't. We broke up on a friendly note, both realizing that I was too young to handle such a serious thing, especially long distance.
I was still pretty stable back then. "Normal", except for the inferiority complex and the persecution complex that I developed in grade school. I started out in high school okay, I went to a Catholic high school only because my best friend was going there, not because I was Catholic. I quickly migrated back into the "misfit" category (the people I hung out with were the truest friends I could have asked for - but you know the "categorizing" in high school - it's a fact of life). Even when I was diagnosed with depression my second year of high school and stuck in the "nut ward" for 3 weeks, they were there for me, supportive and caring. They never judged.
When I was 15, I met a guy at my weekend haunt, the roller rink. I met him in March of 1982 and soon came to realize he was my "first love". 3 months later he set me on the path to promiscuity and 2 weeks after he dumped me. I never thought it through. I always had romantic visions of "forever". After this relationship ended was when I discovered "cutting". I would cut up my wrists with a steak knife or a double-edged razorblade to try and "cut out " the pain. I scratched his name into my leg. I envisioned his seeing my obituary in the newspaper and going out of his mind with guilt.
Then I met another guy and the pain went away. I was first introduced to another constant companion, co-dependency. Actually, this guy turned out to be one of my dearest friends until I went wild at 17 and lost touch with all my decent friends. At the time I met him the worst my out-of-school crowd did was smoke cigarettes. I had two sets of friends. One in school, one at the roller rink who all went to a different school. My best friend Lesley is the only one I ever saw outside of school. I still consider her my dearest friend although we live 1200 miles apart now and our last communication was months ago. I don't know if there's a name for what I did, separate my friends into communities, but I still do it. Now it's easier with the advent of "online friends".
At 16, I was out of control. I had "blackouts". I went wild. My mom took me to a psychiatrist who lazily diagnosed me with depression. Depression was as "popular" an illness in the 80s as schizophrenia was in the late 60s-early 70s. He stuck me in the hospital and fed me a daily diet of Tofranil (to pick me up), Lithium (to stabilize), Xanax (to sedate) , Mellaril (to tranquilize), Atavan (to run into walls) and Dalmane (to sleep). The "nut ward" was an adventure. I had a roomate who was about 80 and kept me up all night yelling. I got in a fight with another girl my age, who later became my friend. I refused to do morning exercises, freaked out and they knocked me unconscious with some purple pill that worked faster than a sledgehammer. I had fun!!!! (yep-ok).
I was at my worst from the middle of my sophomore year and all through my junior year. I met a guy who became the be-all and end-all of my world. He introduced me to the World of Drugs. It started with one joint, and I felt so incredibly light headed and carefree that I quickly decided this was better than meds! He also supplied me with speed pills - Black Beauties, yellowjackets and blue specks. I was so naive I didn't realize they were diet pills for the most part. No wonder I kept my weight down! He also introduced me to alcohol. He had friends who were 19 (the drinking age in NJ at the time) who supplied us with booze. I went roller skating drunk. Then I gave up roller skating altogether to hang out with this guy.
While we were together, I was in the psych ward at least 2 more times. I rolled my first car after having my license for 3 months and wound up freaking out and doing a six-week at a "country club" clinic in the "emotionally disturbed teenagers" ward. I met all kinds of druggies there who were like me - as soon as they got out, they were gonna get high. I met ANOTHER guy in there - my boyfriend and I were "separated" at the time. This guy was another "long distance" but this time I had a driver's license. I got another car from my dad (don't laugh, it was a puke-green 1974 Pinto). So I saw him on weekends. He's the great guy who gave me the "thrill" of trying acid. Oh yes, I did find the winners.
We split up, my ex and I got back together, and life went to hell. I was so into the evil weed and the alcohol that it precluded everything else in my life. I cheated on him. We split up for good. I went down the road to Hell. And it wasn't the heavy metal music, I'm still into that but no longer the drugs and alcohol. I ended up in AA for 2 years. Still taking the same meds too.
I quit high school at the beginning of senior year. I did get a GED in 1985.
I moved into my own place at 18. From there it was worse and worse relationships, more and more self destruction. I stopped taking my meds. I lived in poverty. I hung out with wild crowds. At 20 I discovered a tamer group of friends. We partied on weekends but that was it. And I made another good friend out of that group. We had a physical relationship and a caring friendship but it was never a "relationship" although I wanted it to be. I met him when I was seeing his best friend, another "love of my life" (ha ha) and if it wasn't for him, I would have gone off the deep end even worse. As it was, I was getting served in bars since I was 17 (and the age just went up to 21) and picking up guys. I ended up pregnant with my oldest during that time. She is the one I am sure inherited my bipolar.
With impending motherhood in front of me, I stopped the drugs and minimized the drinking. I was then with the guy who would eventually become my husband (and now my ex husband). Having a baby presented me with a whole new set of challenges I wasn't ready to face. I wasn't a horrible mother, in 13 years I never had child welfare step in, but I could have been better. My ex was verbally and later physically abusive towards me - he wasn't the first who was, either. We had a stormy 11-year relationship before we got married. In 1991 I became pregnant and all he said was "We can't afford another kid". Yet she's his favorite now. Oh, he had all KINDS of problems worse than mine that went undiagnosed until last year. Number One was just that he's a ...... (i think it's time for me to stop now).
My son was born in 1998. I finally had a clue and he was the first I was actually excited about. Of course I looked forward to the other two, but I was terrified both times. I thought at that point, though, that I was established in parenthood and more than capable. I also resigned myself to the "fact" that I'd never find anyone better so in 1999 I married the kids' father. MISTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKE!!!!!!!! He grew more possessive and more abusive. I took it all. All these years, remember, I was untreated for any illness, not even depression. In 13 years I lost a lot of jobs, had a couple car accidents, just basically screwed up everything I touched. We lived in debt and poverty. We were always behind.
In August of 2000 I discovered the Internet. I became a chat addict, and got accused daily of meeting men that I met online. I didn't, I just chatted with them. Friendlyt chat, nothing nasty. I did date a few later on, after he and I separated. Even at 34 I still exposed myself to danger. All I can say is that God was watching over me all those years, because I'm still alive. The end of my marriage came after a violent episode for which there was no forgiveness. It was bad enough I was having a hard time at my job and everyone there was so rotten about it. I cried a lot and withdrew from life. I virtually gave up housework. I sat up online until 4 a.m., slept an hour and a half, and went to work on that little sleep.
In March I came across an article about bipolar disorder. It sounded so much like me, I felt hopeful for the first time in years that maybe I actually had a problem and wasn't just a loser. I went to a psychiatrist and he diagnosed me with BPII. I have since been on Depakote, Zoloft, Neurontin and Welbutrin. The Depakote and Zoloft both gave me headaches, so now I just take Neurontin and Welbutrin.
In April, my ex was out of jail. He came by one day when the kids and I weren't there, broke his no-contact order, and set my trailer house on fire. He is now sitting in jail for at least 4 years for that.
In June, I met the REAL love of my life online. We are together now, I'm happier than I've ever been, my medication is regimented, my doctor visits and therapy regular. I see light at the end of the tunnel.
There is no cure. I still have bad times. But the urge for drugs is gone, and I can drink 3 beers and be done with it. I feel I'm doing better with the kids, although years of a structure-free homelife and a "wacko" mother have taken their toll on my 13-year-old. She is displaying the symptoms and behaviors I did at 15. But now I know better what course of action to take to prevent her from a life like mine was.
I still keep a journal online, the link is below, if you haven't seen it already on your way here.
Thanks for listening! |
