There has been one constant in my journey with Bipolar One disorder, and that is my mother. Since the day I was diagnosed she has been there for me fighting the fight that I should have been fighting all along.
She fought for me when I didn’t fight for myself.
I can’t imagine the pain that I put her through over the years. I tried once to figure out how many times in the last ten years that I hurt her. The hospital visits. The suicide attempts. When I decided to not eat most days. When I couldn’t get myself out of bed for weeks at a time. When I just ignored her or caused more problems than she deserved. When she would have to rush home almost weekly because I couldn’t handle life.
I lost track eventually.
How much it must have hurt her to see me not want to a part of the world and not wanting to exist. I just can’t imagine that pain she held inside, and what is even more amazing is that she always believed I would come back.
I don’t deserve my mother, I never did. But, I wouldn’t be here without her. The Bipolar Writer is only possible because of her.
My mother saved my life.
My mother did everything she could those early years of my diagnosis. She fought to get me to see a psychiatrist in the adult system of care. She adjusted her life so that she could take care of someone who, more often than not, told her that he wanted to not be apart of this world. I was the worst version of myself, and even when everyone told her to give up on me and put me away, she said no.
So many people have given up on me over the years and I really can’t blame them because I was insufferable for so many years. Yet my mom stayed the course. My mom was the only person that believed everything I have achieved over the last five years was even possible. Finishing my degree. Writing over the last two years.
James Edgar Skye, my pseudonym, only became possible because of her.
My mother was relentless. She would always make sure I had my medicine no matter the cost or the fact that I had no insurance. She would take me to my appointments for the first three years of my diagnosis because she knew I wouldn’t go. I was so lost, and yet she had faith in me always.
My mother has a big chapter in my memoir The Bipolar Writer, but I thought it was time to honor the one person who willed me into the person and writer I am today. To always believing in the big possibilities in my life.
I am alive because my mother had faith. My mother saved my life. I love my mother for always being there for me.
Always Keep Fighting.
Photo Credit: sydney Rae