โWe never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.โ Cameron, 15 year old brain driving a 33 year old bus. ๐ก๐๐ฉ๏ธ๐
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Processing...in real time
I received what should be some more upsetting news a few nights ago; and I'm not sure if it isn't more upsetting because of who it involves, or because I haven't processed it, or because my conscious and subconscious have decided my own personal shit takes precedence over the issue at hand.
Monday night, my mother was checked into a mental care facility for a 72-hour involuntary psychiatric hold, showing symptoms of, best case, hypomania related to bipolar and, worst case, some form of dementia.
The context:
My mother has done her level best in the past few years to alienate everyone close to her. Whether that was a conscious and intentional decision is hard to say. She, like me, has struggled with mental illness for as long as I can remember. Depression, bipolar, probably undiagnosed narcissistic personality disorder. She has seen therapists and psychiatrists in the past. However, I have also seen some of those same therapists and psychiatrists, and...like...yikes.
It seems like a trope nowadays, but things really came to a head sometime around COVID-19. She started acting impulsively, dangerously almost, with zero regard for the impact on those around her. She got mean to my dad and little sister (those living in her immediate household). She THREW herself into hobbies that none of us recall her having before, despite her protests. She bought multiple bicycles and a dirtbike, all but forced my dad to build her a bike shed, then kicked him out of the garage woodshop he so lovingly built in his retirement and forced his lifelong hobby into the bike shed. She would disappear for hours on end, sometimes taking grandchildren with her. She has continued to emotionally and psychologically abuse those around her while playing the victim card.
All this to say, and I know this is a luxury that only comes with living in another state, but I have taken steps to distance myself from her.
So when the news hit...I mean, initially, it is hard to feel much for someone who took steps to blindside the entire family to kick you out of the house. Empathy doesn't come easy for those who have been abusive for decades, even if...best case...it was unintentional.
The nuance:
Besides the obvious of "she is my mother," I keep having these imaginations of a human, with perhaps some rare moments of lucidity, being equally (or, let's be honest, more so) scared and confused as the rest of us. What must it feel like to consciously realize your brain is failing you?
I've also, for better or worse, also felt somewhat of a kindred spirit to my mother. I know my siblings did not get off scot-free in the mental health department, but I also think I got more than my fair dose of it and from my mother. ADHD, depression, anxiety, and a misdiagnosis (ugh, thank you aforementioned psych providers) of bipolar. And despite the misdiagnosis, it was an identity I lived with for over a decade, and that doesn't shake easily. All that to say, even though we are often taking the brunt of the abuse...sometimes I get it, Mom. I get it. I know what you're going through. I may think you are mishandling it, but deep down, in the dark and quiet parts of our brains, I know where this is stemming from. And I also wish I didn't think, feel, or act this way.
There's also the flash of, "what if the last time I said goodbye to, or spoke to, or hugged MY MOM was a hurried goodbye on Christmas?" Or even, "what if the last time MY MOM recognized her only son was a hurried goodbye on Christmas?"
What if this is also my future? What is my brain is destined to fail me one day? What if I am also to see my memories wither away, one by one, until I can't tell you what day it is, the names of my partners, my favorite color, my favorite pet, the day of the week? The bad brain genes run strong on that side of the family; I have mental illness from my mom, addictive tendencies from her brother.
No one on either side of my immediate family has really lived that long to know what our brains do in old age. Both of my paternal grandparents died before my dad was 30. My maternal grandmother died of cancer. My maternal grandfather hung himself in the garage (what if I also inherited that gene?). My mom's eldest brother died of AIDS in the '90s. My paternal uncles, thankfully, are still sharp as tacks, if not a little right-leaning. My mom is the eldest of her family and the outlook seems bleak.
The conclusion:
I think even after all of this, there might not be a conclusion. I'm just as conflicted, and scared, and worried, and distant as I was when I started typing this. As of the last update, she seems much more lucid and is responding well to treatment. So I may not even need to process this now...however, we know that we are just kicking the can down the road. Sooner or later I will have to face the mortality of my parents. And despite my fraught relationship with them, I don't think it'll be an easy road.
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Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student
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Arches, 11/24
REALLY tough photo conditions in Arches, but worth it to be nearly alone in the park most days! When else do you get Delicate Arch to yourself for like 45 minutes than when it's like 15F and windy. Wish I could have made better use of that time but whatever.
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๐๐ง ๐๐ง๐จ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ซ ๐ฎ๐ง๐ข๐ฏ๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐ ๐โ๐ฆ ๐๐๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ซ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฏ๐ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ฌ๐ฌ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ญ. ๐โ๐ฆ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ซ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฆ๐๐๐ญ ๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐จ๐ง๐.
excerpts from a book Iโll never write
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Polaroid of you in my wallet
In its stillness I see the breadth of you
If I could Iโd capture every moment
May your soul find solace in a flip book for my muse
I pray Iโm not too forward with
Machiavellian ploys
But girl you have me itching
For my next plot to deploy
Unravel all our strings
To find whatโs underneath
Can we stitch them all together
Make mosaic tapestry?
The fraying of my fabric
Match with those draped atop you
Your artisan crafted eyes
Kaleidoscopes with endless hues
So may I get a maybe?
Perhaps a yes, someday?
An offer from an art collector
Sellers tenderโs pending your praise
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the best part about having a job is being able to go through doors other people arenโt allowed to use the worst part is everything else
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โโฆIโll say I love you,
which will lead, of course,
to disappointment,
but those words unsaid
poison every next moment.
I will try to disappoint you
better than anyone ever has.โ
Excerpt from โMon Semblableโ by Stephen Dunn. Featured in โThe Not Yet Fallen World.โ
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If you were to ask me about Mark, Tom, and Travis,
Iโd say they and their collective body of work are amazing.
But if youโd ask me on a deeper level,
Iโd say that back when I was at my lowest, Iโd take drives by myself, playing music a little too loud, going a little too fast, on canyon roads that were a little too narrow, around bends that were a little too tight. And some nights, sliding off the side of the road didnโt sound too bad. And Boxcar Racer would remind me that There Is someone out there who feels just like me. Or Angels and Airwaves would tell me life is waiting to begin. Or Blink 182 would remind me this canโt be the end. +44 would inform me that the past is just the future with the lights on.
Iโd say Mark, Tom, and Travis saved my life.
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You can't wait until life isn't hard anymore before you decide to be happy.
k.b. // r.i.p. jane nightbird
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