4:04 pm
I’m back from my 4th of July trip to see my dad and mom, back to back–along with my brother. And, whoa, Nellie, what a (head) trip, indeed!
See, I’m going to be blunt–and maybe it’s not my place, but I have to talk about it: both my parents suffer (yes, I know they are in pain, which makes me feel pained) from untreated mental health disorders. We think my dad has bipolar disorder, I think my mom has anxiety and possibly never-diagnosed OCD, and we know for a fact that they’ve both been treated for depression. Not a big thang, you know, if everyone involved SEES that they are suffering and makes a CONCERTED EFFORT to get and stay in treatment. But, you know, they don’t. They are not. They try to hide or avoid their issues, and they seem to be too afraid to confront them in order to change.
Of course, I get it! I could be describing MYSELF when I was in the midst of my drinking disorder! And, I know it takes what it takes, but… They are both in their 70s!? I don’t know what to do most of the time except to practice not reacting the way I want to (in anger) and accept their behavior but try to lead and/or engage them in what I see as “healthier” techniques of relating. It’s just all very hard when these people are your parents and not some strangers, or even someone else’s parents. Our shared history and my emotional baggage makes it harder to not react emotionally.
It makes me angry to see both of them not really ever seeming to resolve anything on the inside, but mostly, it is just draining to have to deal with it. I felt so drained coming home, and it took me days to stop being really angry and reactive and just heavy-hearted and like my brain had been scrambled. To make matters worse, they had these issues growing up, and they affected me in a big way–it took me years to even realize what bizarre coping mechanisms I had developed let alone start dealing with them so that they stopped negatively impacting all of my own relationships, from personal to professional!
I SO want to just out them sometimes, to yell and scream, to tell them “what is wrong with them.” But, I don’t. It just doesn’t seem…worthwhile. I’ve thought about writing a letter, which would allow me to be more measured and empathetic, but again, it just seems like it might be a waste of time. Plus, I’m not ready to go there AFTER the letter has been read, as in, I don’t have the desire to be that open right now, as their daughter, and/or the ability to play the role of psychologist. So, I just leave it–with my mom, I think she is trying to work on some of her problems, and my dad, well, I kind of consider him a lost cause at the moment because he’s manic, and it seems like a hallmark trait of mania is that until the person hits bottom, they honestly don’t believe there is anything wrong with their thoughts and behaviors.
It was great, though, to get caught up on on this stuff, and to be with each other, and to just be real. And a part of me feels sure that somehow, seeing their kids helps them stabilize a bit, normalizes whatever tangent their emotional or thought disorder has taken them on–I imagine our kid-parent bond as a powerful antidote, at least temporarily, to feeling estranged from themselves; it helps me, in a way, to feel less estranged from life, to reel me back into something bigger than myself, gives me a sense of order again, helps me find “myself” again, at least one that I recognize. I hope that I’m right, and it makes me realize that I should see them more often (I hadn’t actually seen my mom for two years, and with my dad, it had been a year…but before last year, it was three years!).
You would think that all of this would have made me want to drink, and I admit, there were a few moments when I really did think a glass of wine would make it easier to just escape, to get rid of the bad feelings, to disappear for a while. Of course, I didn’t; I had plenty of time to think about ALL that I’ve worked for the past six years, and how, really, one drink would lead me back to where I was when I started writing this blog in June, 2012. I’ve had quite a few moments, too, in the past month or so, when I’ve felt SO FUCKING BORED here, in my new home, that I have wanted to “start drinking again.” It’s weird how in this case, it’s not a glass of wine I want, but the entire habit, or activity, of “drinking again.”
Not to worry: they are just thoughts, and I have every reason in the world to NOT start drinking again. In fact, just this morning, as I was listening to a podcast about a man who lost the use of his lower body from a drinking and driving accident, I just felt so…horrible for him, and disgusted for him, but also grateful for the simple beauty of the GRAND, POWERFUL act of getting sober, of being sober. It does keep going, and it does get better, and I am still feeling wonder-full about it all–in spite of family pressures, and in spite of the occasional side of boredom that comes with the eggs and toast of life! (haha) Have a great Saturday, all!
Drunky Drunk Girl 