Yeah, I know I haven't been online for the purpose of blogging for a while. But I've been undergoing a lot more soulsearching than I ever have in my life. Plus, my family just moved into a new appartment (three bedroom, a little more space, but less storage capacity than before). My parents have been on the edge since, especially my mother.
Speaking of her, our relationship has gotten really rocky. This semester, my grades hit a lower standard than what she wants, and I just don't give a damn about her opinion anymore. All my life, I've lived in fear of her, and now my hormones finally decide it's time for me to break out of it. Don't get me wrong, I agree with what my body says, but so far, it's been rather…immature. Yeah, school is important, but I think understanding myself is key to a successful life.
Some of you are probably wondering about this entry's title. I've been diagnosed with bipolar dissorder. My therapist managed to figure it out almost a month ago. And let me tell you, I loathe it. I hate to admit it, but the image of perfection is something my parents accidentally hammered into my head at a young age. The fact that the slightest thing can set me off is a bit humiliating to me. Oh, well, nothing I can do about that.
My dad went to Mexico two weeks ago. My grandmother was diagnosed with skin cancer and, being the worried son, he decided to go and comfort her. Don't think I'm selfish; if I could have, I would have paid for her medical expenses. The reason why he took so long was because an aunt of mine had a mental breakdown from stress. Talk about bad luck.
The entire time he was gone, my mother and sister kept wanting him to return safely. I didn't give a damn about what happened to him. Before any one of you break out with "Thou shalt honor your mother and father," understand this; everything my father is, I wish I could scrape clean out of me. He may be hard-working, but he only sees what he wants to see. He won't listen to anyone elses side of the story. He wouldn't even take my side when my sister bit me on the back at age ten.
Do I hate him? No. Do I hate who he thinks he is? Absolutly. End of story.
I've also decided to stop taking my medication. What's the point in using it if it will only supress who I am? Yeah, it "helps," but only for a period of time. I'd rather face my demons and find out what's the source of the problem.
Before I finish this though, I want to ask a question: Have any of you felt as though you were being forced out of your body in a dream? Half a week ago, I had a dream where my mother put a curse on my father. When I tried to go to sleep in the dream, I felt a pain in my heart and started hurtling past the universe (at least I think so; I was wizzing past a plethora of bright white streaks) before seeing a single blue eye staring at me. It's still disturbing to me.