When I was young I was bipolar. For sure. But I have no diagnoses. I’ve put it all together with the words Mama Jean used to describe my manic and depressive episodes.
She’s say, “ she’s either high as a kite or down in the dumps” my paraphrase. Up. Or down. Much like a cycle. Thank you Victoria for so kindly pointing it out. I am aware. Are you dear sister? That’s you didn’t even care and chose to do like Mama and bully me into compliance? Trying to cram all the emotions is not healthy. You’d know that if I was around more. But Mama.
She’s got it too. Look at the house. Proof. Of her manic episodes all around. But she was thrifty about it. I’ve diagnosed us all backwards. The families loaded.
When I was diagnosed bipolar, I was low on the spectrum. Good for me. I’d been working on it. Chelsie’s got it too. Facing the dark emotions with someone who cares is key. I faced them with myself. Right here. In public.
Up down. Up down. Up down. Sound familiar? Victoria? And I’m going on for a kill. Yes. And I’m not giving up. Yes. Cuz Mama needs my help to bleed it out too. Why else would I go public? Duh? She stuffed me so deep only me can dig me out and unravel all the emotions surround my passing. Cuz I died but still live.
Mamas been stuck in the in between ever since I returned. Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. What do I do now lord? That right there. Am I real? Am I just a phase? Does she see me? Does she hate me? I hate myself cuz this. Ain’t love. It’s pain from the denial of love. And y’all want me to just leave her alone? That’s sickness right there.
I am the enemy of the ignorance you all live in after my passing. Gone. But I was there. Always. Like a ghost haunting my own Mama. Loving her. But could she receive if she didn’t even love herself? Well? That’s what we are solving for. Love. always wins. when we faint not in our well doing. We reap. Knowledge is the power to release Mama from her own hell. And I am the postman on her beat.
Mama jean has her manic episodes too. No diagnoses. But I’ve learned what to look for I went to get help. Help. That no one could see I needed from a wound received at birth. No one went there. Cuz no one was trained to even see where there was with me.
Bipolar to me means vacillating between emotions. it means running from them due to not even know what to do about a trigger. You get triggered and then you medicate or shop to work it out but facing it is not addressed. How does anyone face it when they haven’t learned what it. Is?
So when I saw I am the help I say it with the full confidence of my own training to back that up. Facing my own feelings about my ghost Mama was key and this blog is my proof of recovering what I lost a long time ago. Adoption. A confusing concept that sounds like, looks like, a child is just being moved but people don’t realize what all that moving does to the child’s whole being.
People don’t see that we all are connected to our Mama whether we stay or not. And. My Mama has lived as if nothing was happened when something very important happened that needed to be faced by us all. We face the decisions. I face the outcome of those decisions made by my own Mama and report my findings of a lifetime. I’m loaded with findings as I’ve observed my own behavior my whole life and worked on myself in front of my own children. Struggled in front of my own children. Changed it in front of my own children and educated them while I educated myself. They. Can call me out because they know what to call out thanks to me.
There Mamas not ignorant, she’s work work work working on my shit as Iggy sings.
Listen to this. See me.