No Change

I don't visit here often. It isn't a place I like to hang out. I read the post below and realized there has not been much change. Two and a half years. We seem to be in a holding pattern. Months pass with no contact and I get to forget you for a little while. I get to forget the damage you've done, the carnage that is our family. And then you call and the wounds start to re-open. There just doesn't seem to be any hope for change.

I convince myself that this is real. That it's not an excuse. I don't now for sure, but my faith may actually be broken.

Ten Days

In ten days that status will no longer read "in custody."
Each day I go on. I get up, I work hard, I love my husband and I try to forget you.
And I'm so tired of crying over you. Mom says it's the outlet that God gave us.
I don't want to need an outlet. The coward in me wishes you would just disappear,
and then maybe we could all move on. We'd be a broken family but at least we could begin to pick up the pieces.

When I was four years old you introduced me to a big God,
a God who cared where I had put my sun glasses, a God who knew me, a God who loved me
Eight years later my big beautiful picture of my God got a little chip in it. Each day that's passed since then has been weathering my picture and there's no going back.
I understand that my faith should not ride on the love of an earthly father,
but I know that it does.

I just don't believe He's big enough.

"they honor me with their lips, but their hearts are from me."

So in 10 days you'll be back. Physically free and so, so broken.
And I still don't know what to do with you. I'm just so tired.

Fall 2009

I guess it's been a while since I've been here. It's been quiet since I last posted. A few months ago Dad threatened to burn down a church and apparently that's a big deal. He's been in jail ever since. Dad being in jail is great for all involved. I figure he's pretty safe and the rest of us get a break. My gained possession of the house and it seems like she's going to be ok without his financial support. My older brother moved home (to my mom's house) so he could go back to school. I'm really happy he's there. I'm so glad mom isn't living alone anymore. I know she hated that. So it's quiet. Whole days go by and I don't think about him. It's peaceful and much less painful. Mom says he's supposed to get out around Christmas. I wish he wouldn't. I wish he'd stay there forever. Honestly I'm pretty much done with him. Maybe in 20 years I might not feel this way, but right now I would be thrilled to know that I'll have to talk to him again. I know that I'm weak. I know that God probably isn't pleased with my attitude, but I don't care. It hurts less this way.

Life is hard

Today, this week, this year has been more than anything, hard. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I can't see the beauty in the everyday, maybe I am incapable of finding joy in the small things, maybe I'm so selfish that I lose out on all the fun. Or maybe life really is just plain hard.

Babies make me smile. I can't wait to hold a little one in my arms and know that he's ours, that I'll be the one he cries to and laughs with. But...sometimes on my way to work I pass a the middle school kids walking home from school. Some of them are so awkward and my heart hurts for them. I know that life within the walls of their school probably isn't fun. And then Jessie (who's only 7) comes home from school crying because some boy said something mean. And life is hard in elementary too....I remember high school, it was fun, but not a bed a roses. College was no picnic. We all couldn't wait to get out of school, to be free. It's not true. No school does not equal freedom. No school equals ten hour days at the job you were supposed to love. I really think it's all downhill after you turn 6.

People get sick, they die, or they keep on living...and make it all harder. We make friends, we love them, and then someone leaves. Life is always changing, and change hurts.

All this makes me wonder if it's worth it....is bringing another life into this hard world worth having a little someone to hold?

Maybe it's me...maybe I'm sick too...maybe I screwed up somewhere, and that's why it's hard.

Or maybe, life is just plain hard.

Your Mother

The times my dad's been manic (right now total's two such times) he's constantly used the phrase "your mother" when referring to my mom...always is a negative or degrading way. It got old really fast. It's occured to me, this time around, that my dad has never really loved my mom. Last time dad was manic it was before I got married...now I know what a loving relationship is like...and it's nothing like the way he treats her. He doesn't ever put what she might want above himself. He doesn't ever think of her needs, or how what he does might affect her. I believe that once upon a time my dad was in love with my mom, but I'm pretty sure it was just feelings...not any actual sacrificing love. My husband would die for me...I'm pretty sure my dad wouldn't even take notice if my mom needed him.

Now

Three weeks ago my dad called me. This wasn't a normal occurrence. He just wanted to talk. We talked about the weather. I was excited. I thought maybe the meds were finally helping. That maybe he could really live a normal, even life, like everyone keeps saying that properly medicated bipolar people can do. I called my mom the next day to ask what was really going on. She sounded scared. Yeah, he was "up" but not good kind of up, crazy kinda up. I'm not gonna lie, I was crushed.

It feels like a lot longer than three weeks ago. Everyday is a little scarier than the last, and I live thousands of miles away from this man. It's beyond painful to think of what my mom must be going through. I guess I don't know for sure though...since this started the amount of phone conversations I have with my mom has gone way down. I think she's trying to protect me. I appreciate that...and it is easier to function if I'm given the chance to forget my dad. I am such a wimp. I got a birthday card from them today. My mom made it. It's beautiful. The back is covered in my dad's handwriting. Dad's handwriting is painful to look at. It's like seeing something written in a handwriting belonging to some one who's been dead for a long time. It's come in and out of my life since I can remember. My dad has always been obsessed with paper and pens and writing things down. His messy cursive/printing style is written in all my childhood memories and only in a few painful adult ones. I called him to thank him for the card. He said he wanted to drive out here. He has some pretty grandiose travel plans. Listening to them was like going back three years. It's like he was frozen for all that time and suddenly he's back and still has all the crazy plans he did then. My poor mother.

I'm here

I'm here because I need a place to unload. It isn't fun to talk about having a bipolar man for a dad, it also isn't fun to go crazy holding it all inside. So that's why I'm here.

When I was 13 my dad disappeared. He withdrew to the point where we didn't talk at all and spent most of the time in the basement. It made me really mad for a while, but as time went by I just kinda let go. It wasn't so hard to live without him, he hadn't been that great of a dad in the first place. My sophomore year in college is when we figured out my dad wasn't just depressed, he was bipolar. I didn't even know what that meant, but I knew what my dad was turning into was scary as hell, but before it was hellish, it was hopeful. His mom died in the fall and that's when things started to change. We thought he was getting better. He was talking, and showering. I remember hearing him cuss out my brother for no reason, and that's when I realized this wasn't better. That's when I knew that I'd rather not have a dad than live through what was inevitably coming next yet.
After Thanksgiving break I went back to school and tried to go on normally. I went home to visit for a weekend and an ended up spending it sleeping on the floor in my best friends bedroom because dad had kicked me out. I called him a jerk. He was being one. During a family meal he actually pulled out his bible, read Proverbs 31 and told us all how my mom was nothing like a Proverbs 31 wife. It was infuriating. My mom is amazing. She stayed, or really let him stay even though he had been nothing but an extra mouth to feed (certainly not a husband!) for the past seven years.

Through the next few months things only go worse. Eventually mom left to stay with her mom in Ohio. Dad figured out where she'd gone and followed her. My uncle called the cops and dad ended up in a mental hospital in Ohio. He stayed for two months and racked up a bill that you wouldn't believe. When he got out my mom had changed the locks. Dad lived in a hotel downtown for a while. By this time I was living back in my home town in an apartment with a friend. He called me everyday, probably 5 times a day. My boyfriend and I got engaged despite his reaction to the whole thing. So dad called me to tell me I would be a horrible wife just like my mom. He called me to tell me he'd just had sex with a hooker. He called me just yell and cuss me out. He called me crying, begging me to tell my mom to let him come home.

He spent money like there was no tomorrow. It took a few years to pay off the debt that he racked up in a few months. Mom got a restraining order. Dad peed in the lawn and egged the house. He ripped the windshield wipers of my brothers car. He canceled the family cell phone (I didn't want to be on his plan in the first place, but there was no telling him no). I would go home to visit mom and he'd be in his car a block away. He'd get out and yell and scream at me to stop. All the neighbors knew. It felt like the whole town knew. I could not wait to get rid of his last name. The stigma was horrible. He would come to the house even though he wasn't allowed to because of the restraining order. We was out of control, we wanted him in jail. So one evening stopped by and stood in the yard yelling at us. My brother and my fiance went out to talk to him while my mom called the cops. He got in his car to leave so my brother and fiance stood in front and behind of his car. I was so scared he would get mad enough to run one of them over. He was so angry and so loud.

The time he spent in jail somehow broke him. He slipped back into the depression and eventually my mom let him come home. There was so much damage from his manic episode. Both financially and emotionally. He'd involved countless people and burned so many bridges. Despite my general feelings for the man I let him walk me down the isle at my wedding. Since then my relationship to him (or lack there of) has been very similar to the way it was during the last 7 years that I lived at home. It's easier this way, much easier to live without a dad than to deal with an insane one.