I often look back on my life and wonder "what happened?" When was the moment it all started to go so wrong? I have survived my childhood as ugly as it was. I look back on most of those years with a great deal of pleasure. But, I think that is my selective memory. There are lots of chunks of my life I simply don't remember. Moments too traumatic for my mind to process. I guess that's when I learned to become invisible.
I remember a lot of rage in adolescence. I would fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. I didn't get along with my siblings and had no respect for adults. I told off one of my teachers. It resulted in a one week in school suspension. There was a lot going on at home, mainly with my mother. She was in a full blown psychotic episode. She was talking to herself and saw Jesus in our laundry room. I hated her for being sick. I wasn't too crazy about my dad then either. He was working all the time, and couldn't handle anything. I know now, he did the best he could, but it wasn't enough.
All my sister did was have private dance parties. The latest R & B music could be heard blaring from her room, her fingers snapping loudly. My brother was a pot-head. He listened to heavy metal and got stoned all the time. Me? I just stayed in my room, surrounded by the noise and did my homework. Sometimes, I marvel that I got anything done. I would tune everything out and disappear into my world of books.
I know now that it was all due to the bipolar. The mood swings, the isolation, all the negative thoughts were because I was a kid desperately in trouble. Most people think that's just normal teenage behaviour. Some of it is, but normal teenagers don't scratch up their faces and arms, or burn themselves with cigarette lighters.
I was raped when I was 14. I didn't say anything because I had lost my voice by then. It was a family member. He was stronger than me. Not that I put up much of a fight, I mean that's all I was good for, right? I can still feel his hands on me. I just laid there, and disappeared. I told my parents at the same time I told them about the molestations. I felt ashamed, dirty and terribly afraid they wouldn't love me anymore.
I guess these are the moments that left so much wreckage in my life. There have been some flowers along the pathway. It hasn't all been bad. It just seems like every time I'm doing well, I have a bipolar episode. Right now, I am in a depression. I cannot concentrate, I have no motivation, and I have isolated myself. I have no feelings about anything. I have not cried, laughed, screamed or expressed any emotion for six weeks. I'd even settle for an anxiety attack. At least I would be feeling something. I am utterly numb. I wonder when the feelings will come back. Perhaps, I have disappeared so often, that this time I can't come back. Oh well, you know what they say, fake it 'til you make it. I'll just pretend to be a real person for now.
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