I always knew there was something wrong with my family. We all suffered major mood swings; depression was a frequent companion. And despite the fact that we all were born with natural creative talents, none of us used or even exercised these talents.
I knew for sure there was something wrong with me. It seemed every time I started doing well I did something to sabotage myself. Every relationship that I entered into I would start out gung ho, spoiling that person all the time with gifts and my time. After a while I would become resentful that they weren’t doing much for me. I would become disappointed, disillusioned, and bitter. I recently found out that I have a borderline personality disorder.

When I was young my parents drank. They drank a lot. They would go to the bars and us kids had to fend for ourselves. One incident happened when I was about nine years old. My sister, who was six years older than me, was babysitting us and she had some friends from school over to the house. They were boys. My mom came home and she was angry. I remember me, my older sister, and younger sister were in our beds; Mom stood in the doorway and told us she needed to kill all of us girls. She was trying to figure out how to do it. I remember crying into my pillow and my older sister telling me to be quiet and maybe Mom would forget. She did, but from then on I did everything I could to keep Mom happy.

I’ve carried that over into my adult life. This has had a disastrous effect on me and all my relationships. I exhibit the symptoms of bipolar disorder. I’m not quite as manic as a person with bipolar, but the depression is intense and overwhelming. I started to get help because I have been suicidal. I found out that I don’t believe I am worth very much. I am trying to change that thought process with individual therapy. It’s hard. For thirty-five years I’ve felt as though nothing good could ever happen to me.

My husband and daughter keep me from taking my own life. I’m beginning to enjoy my home and yard. Owning a home was a dream I’d had for a long time. Our puppy Johnny gives me unconditional love. I’ve started to enjoy gardening, reading, and writing. I’ve started writing poetry again. It’s been like finding a long lost friend. I have hope for the future again. Maybe someday I’ll even like myself. My faith in God has wavered a bit: I can believe that God will do anything for me, but I guess I question, if my parents didn’t lovingly take care of me, why should God? Still, my faith remains. I’m banking that my family and home, my faith, and therapy will get me through the rest of my life in grand fashion.