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Bi-Polar

These days it’s not called insane! It’s not called lunacy and it’s not called madness! No, these days it’s sanitised and called Bi-polar – they don’t even call it schizophrenia any more. These days they mis-diagnose it and prescribe anti-depressants that cost your child her sanity, her child and her life – and your life. These days . . these days . .

My child is gone; my child is gone; my child is gone …

And I want to write about her, I want to recognise that she was a decent, loving person when she was with us – that she loved life even if she didn’t really know how to live it – not in its entirety or oneness. I don’t care that she fucked up, I really don’t care. I don’t care that she squandered money in her search for happiness and fulfillment. I do care and I wish I had known and I wish that the bailiffs hadn’t come after her and I wish so much that I hadn’t told her that I couldn’t fucking deal with her shit anymore. I wish so much . .

There is a very small positive and that is that our divided family have stopped being stupid and have hugged and to some extent reconciled – that really is a positive. But it doesn’t cancel out that she has gone in circumstances that deny us and her the dignity and closure of burial. She lies there rejected and we stand here filled with guilt and shame that we didn’t understand and we didn’t embrace her and hold her when she wasn’t with us – when she was someone and somewhere else.

She lives on in her child – he is the epitome of her, in looks and temperament. Beautiful and delicate. To look at him is to look at her. But I so wish it was her – I do so wish it was her.

I remember her wildness and defiance from the moment she developed a personality. I remember her ‘I don’t care, so ever!’ as she accepted and faced the consequences of her defiance. She was never broken in spirit by any one or anything and in the end that was her downfall – her spirit that led her to destruction.

Rebecca – Becky, you were the youngest of my three beautiful daughters. You were the most rebellious – a true ‘Wild Child’, a troublesome, unconventional one-off. And truth to tell, none of us understood you – I don’t think you understood yourself, and now you are gone. One less candle in a world that so needs candles. This I promise you, that the light that shines on in your son will be nurtured and protected and believed in in a way that you never were. This is my promise and I make it freely and publicly. And I so wish that it wasn’t necessary.

Some may critisise this post for washing in public that which should be hidden – for expressing openly feelings that are difficult or awkward, that is their opinion. I needed to write this for very selfish reasons – everything has caught up with me, right now! I know my dear J will understand – she is sound asleep and two hours ahead of me, and writing this has helped. Thank you for your forbearance.

Alan

20 thoughts on “Bi-Polar

  1. Love and peace to you and J, Rebecca’s sisters, and most of all her son. A beautifully-written tribute; thank you for trusting us with it.

  2. Dear Alan

    Having soon realised that this “piece” after reading was unlike anything you’ve written before, (starting with a riddle and ending with an amusing quip) you have rendered me quite speechless and emotional. How little we know of people we meet on the highway of life and the burdens they carry. I guess we each have a story to tell, some more extreme than others, but your brave exposure of your life’s history is one that you have carried and now feel that you need to unburden, and your outpouring in an effort to reconcile your past actions and to “send” a message is, in my opinion, a truly courageous and momentous thing. I truly hope that this will act as a big part of your healing and I for one would never criticise such expressions of inner feelings as an aid for reconciliation. It’s good to share “they” say and this you have done, for whatever reason, and I can only hope that having done so you will find your mood buoyant once more. Do not dwell – it is done now – and I look forward to the continued mutterings of the Grumpy Old Bastard that you are – with fondest love to you, Christine xxxxxxxxxxx

  3. I don’t consider this dirtry washing and anyone that does is a brainless idiot. I can’t imagine that was an easy post to write but I am very glad you wrote it. I hope sharing it with us has eased the pain. My deepest sympathies to you and yours and may your child now be at peace. xxxx

  4. Dear.. you know, this is not my mother tongue, and I am always worried that I may not make myself clear.. but anyhow, I will try.. I don’t know her.. haven’t seen her, maybe even never heard of her.. But, as I have always said, you both, are my heroes, my valuable loved ones that joined into my close family circle at my age of 45-50. If you are unhappy about anything, that concerns me, too. Even though I may not know her, I felt, deep in myself, every sentence what you have posted. I wish I were there by your side, sharing the sorrow, to make it lighter for you… Thank you for sharing with us.

  5. Dear Alan — I have tears in my eyes. This is so painful for me to read and I wish I could reach out and hug you. We discovered a year and a half ago that one of my three teenage children has a mental illness and it is the most frightening thing a parent could face. I, too, have never shared the pain, the anxieties and fears that plague me for my child and her future on my blog. I have avoided the public washing even though I know if I did others would reach out and support me. I am glad you have had the courage to do so. Your words inspire me to try harder, to love more (I’ve called my daughter on her cell 3 times since I read this post). Thank you for being honest and sincere, my heart goes out to you at this moment.
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  6. Dear Alan
    I am so sad for you. I too found this very painful reading and it strikes a chord. Many people, including myself, will have poured genuine tears for you and your family. You have shared your inner most feelings and emotions with us – thank you as this helps us to understand the pain and difficulties faced by you all and by your dear daughter. Somewhere lurking in the past we all have someone we felt like this about. I know you will stay strong and J. will be your strength also. Much love to you. xx

  7. I can’t leave this page without saying some thing but i have not got the words to express myself thinking of you and j Love & Respect Ken & Tracey x

  8. Dearest Alan, I just wished I was close by and could give you a big bear hug – and to J too-; you are both remarkable people, and I myself know how very kind and generous you are. What a tough job parenthood is, so rewarding yet you always mull over if you are doing the right thing. I am sure your daughter felt your love – kids have that power – in a million ways that you may not even be aware of. And what a gift you have, your grandson, to be there for him. May She rest in peace; please be kind to yourself. My very sincere condolances to you both and very best wishes. So glad you shared, always here for you. Cok selam ve sevgiler xxx Ozlem
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  9. Alan, this was/is the busiest time of the week for me, and I held off reading your post, not knowing its contents, saving it for an unhurried time. And I just read it, and well, what you have experienced is every parent’s worst nightmare, and as a parent and a grandparent, I so relate to you and Janet and what has happened. I am so sorry. Words are so horribly escaping me at this moment. If I were there I would be driving over to see your eyes and offer a long hug. And to give you my best attention. I am so very thankful that your wrote so that I and others might know and share. Despite the pain felt for you. A big hug. Words fail me… please, just know, I deeply relate, deeply empathize. Ed

  10. I am really sorry to read this my friend. I am really speechless , thinking of you and J that’s all I can say I guess.
    we love you.

  11. Alan, I had not read this before today, and I would like to offer our sincerest condolences on your loss. It must be hard to lose a child and much more so in the circumstances you have described.
    You have our deepest sympathies. John & Tina

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