For decades now I have written (or tried to) about my unfair childhood. Sexual abuse, abandonment issues, daddy issues and countless other things. Yes I was sexually abused, yes I was abandoned and yes there were many other issues. Amongst all of that was still this cunt of a thing we call bipolar.
I’m sick of banging on about the arseholes of the past. Sick of carrying the weight of it all. I’m really happy that my abusers are all dead – no fucking sorrow to spare for them.
It was decades ago and I have no more time to dwell on it. Nothing has to ‘happen’ to make me feel like shit. Bipolar has the magic ability to just bubble that feeling up to the surface.
In fact – lately it’s had the ability to reward me with a nice dose of mania followed by a bout of bone numbing depression and then finally climaxing to angry teeth clenching anxiety. It’s the LSD of today – you never know what kind of shit you’ll get.
So for a long time (decades) I legitimately thought I could blame all of my moods, weird behaviour and psychosis on the childhood trauma. Nope – that was just shit that happened in the past that gave me low self esteem and made me the very tough cookie that I am. While my best friend knows that I do have a soft heart – I wouldn’t hesitate to smack someone’s head in if provoked enough.
I have a violent past and am unapologetic about that. Life happens to all of us, in different colours and tones.
My little girl bullshit can be put to bed because I have made the realisation tonight that no matter what path I could have ended up on – it still would have been holding hands with my bipolar buddy.
I call her buddy because at least she rewards me with some ‘high’ times before she drags me into the depths of my shadow self.