Incoherent Life

   

   I have always been a “why” person, for me to fully comprehend and be contented, I have to know the whys of why. As a child, I exasperated my parents substantially with asking, “Why?” and when they would answer, there would be another catechizing “Why?” so forth and so on. As an adult I still have this “why” mentality. For things to make sense in my head, it is necessitating for me to grasp and be able to cognize the why of all whys until I have reached the fundamentals. Asking the why question up to the point that there is no more explanation to be derived, so that I may understand exactly how all things function or come to be. With this said, it opens up a whole assortment of problems for me to understand how I could have Bipolar disorder and why it exists. There is no real genetic link for me to have Bipolar disorder from childhood, especially since childhood and adult Bipolar have two different “why” concepts. While deducting the concepts of my Bipolar orgin, I conclusively can only state the fact that yes I have gentic markers for mental illness, but not Bipolar and yes there was trauma in my childhood. Unfortunately that is not a good enough answer for me to conclude upon personally.
  As I have gotten older, more and more symptoms arise leading me closer to wanting to know the why’s of my missing memories from my childhood and adolescence and if it is all related to something specific. It is almost as if someone has stolen them out from under my nose. I have always had an excessive memory bank which is why if baffles me that I have somehow started to discard them. Particularly seeing as if it is being done unbeknownst and involuntary to me, not by me. If it is some kind of coping mechanism for my brain, then, why am I left with all the vile memories that should have been shredded to save me? Furthermore, if this is to be true then why am I numb to most of my past and the emotions related to them. It is as if I have truly forgiven and forgot for the most part, towards the persons who I feel wickedly oppressed me. The preponderance of the memories that are waning is predominantly those of individuals. I am losing my memories of people, not particularly of events or occasions, not the things that hurt me, but the comprehensiveness of the people throughout life. I can remember pictures that were taken of these people and occasions where they were present, but to actually remember them or reflect on my memories of them, I draw a blank. As if, my mind has an internal strobe light or seeing things through an edited and fragmented standpoint. I can remember their actions and words towards me, but not them being in my life and I know they were in my past so why are they no longer in my memories.

“I am finding out childhood is the core of who we are, and we must face it and deal with it. Once we do, it will no longer chain us in the past with hurt, fear, hate or guilt. All this does is keep us in bondage. It is time to see hope, love and peace! This will lead us to light, and the light will be the path to the other side: our freedom, our destiny!”
- Ruby
  One person specifically is my Dad, not my biological father, the one who adopted and raised me from the time I was just a toddler. My childhood was not a pleasurable one to ever reflect on, especially when it came to my Dad. As far back as I can remember my Dad had cheated and lied to my Mother and I and they always put me in the middle of it. Every time that he was caught, he made sure to get to me first to bring “Daddy’s Little Girl” to his corner for backup. He manipulated me anyway he saw possible, to use me against my own Mother. I was a child and was unable to comprehend anything going on, so every time he badmouthed my Mother, I believed him as any naive child would. With every separation that a mistress was revealed, I was put in the hot seat to decide if I wanted Daddy to come back. I was not told as a young child the specific truth to why this kept occurring to my family and I do not remember the excuses I had been told by my Mother, I only remember being the deciding factor in my family’s time of “mending“. Throughout my life my parents separated, divorced, and got back together more times than I can recollect. The first time I remember my parents separating and divorcing, I was probably six years old. This day will forever be embedded in my mind I think, since it has yet to fade even the tiniest bit. I remember coming come from playing and my Dad was loading up his truck with all his belongings as my Mom begged him not to go. When he finally drove away, I asked the enviable where and why’s and she turned to me as she walked through the shrub walkway and yelled “Daddy is leaving us because of you. You watched to much TV and he wasn’t happy” then she went inside slamming the door. That day a six year old ran as fast as she could to her babysitter’s house and a piece of her died for the first time as she sobbed with blamed sadness. That was the first day I ever felt alone in this world, the first day that I began to be a child in an adult world.
  When I was about twelve years old, I had finally become aware that this is not normal behavior and the way that the rudimental elements of my family were not normal, no matter how much my Mother tried to portray it to be. When I was placed in that discomfited position, once again to decide if my family was worth saving, this twelve year old made the only “mature” decision she could think of. I made my Dad promise to never hurt my Mother or I ever again and if he did he would not be abided or sanctioned back in my life and I would nevermore forgive his wrongdoings. A promise is the height of guaranteed indemnities for a twelve year old. To a child a promise is the glue that holds assurance and I truly believed he would never break that promise, for promises are never to be broken in childhood. To bet your family and life on a childhood gesture or the decision making of an unacquainted and infantile mind is the ultimate cataclysm in my opinion. Not counting the datum verity of how negligent you are for placing your child in the midst of all the chaos. I will never be able to assimilate what my parents were thinking, predominantly my Dad. I fought for him every single time and grew to be ashamed and embarrassed of my Mother for the entirety of what I was being told by him. To this day I still battle myself with these feelings regarding her at times, even though I can only recall one instance of the event word for word, “She‘s a crazy insane bitch and wants to break-up our family. I love you and you need to know what I tell you is the truth. Do not believe your Mother because she’s a liar and she is going to tell you all these bad things that I did not do.” I was thirteen years old that day and it was one of many days like it that my life fell apart. I apperceived to be called upon once again to play conciliator and the grown-up, for he broke that indestructible promise and was caught once again with his pathological lies. The difference this time, he smashed my childhood belief principles with that one broken promise and I trusted him no more. This came with the fact that my Mother thought it appropriate that I go with her to confront one of his numerous mistresses and a long talk to tell me the truth behind all the years of lies I was fed. To this day, she holds strong to her conviction that I wanted to go, but I was a child. It was not in my best interest and I should not have been looked at in the maturity department to be fit to be in the situations I was placed in or make the decisions I felt forced to make. I remember that night with precision, the evening leading up to it, and the long emotional conversation held at a family friend’s house, which lead to me wanting to go with my Mother. “You shouldn’t go. You are to stressed and emotional right now to drive and I do not feel safe with you going alone,” stated my best friend’s mother, which was her best friend. This is what led me to wanting to go with her. For I did not want her to be alone since it was apparently unsafe for her. I was no longer “Daddy’s Little Girl” that day; I was now a choleric and emotionally destructed teenager, lost in the adult world with all my child-like feelings and mentality. With that solitary event, I lost my puerile innocence forevermore. I even fell in the Devil’s playground hating him with ever breath I took for a long time. I completely cut ties with him for years for what he did from that point until he showed up post-surgery for my last tumor removal almost two years later. I never really forgave him, but I felt obligated to accept his wrongdoings, as he was my Father. I gradually began to accept him fallaciously and open up to him allowing him back in my life, but never letting myself close enough to fall victim again.
  I have held a lot of resentment toward my Dad, for most of my life and I still struggle with our relationship, but I will never stop loving him. I have come to accept the unchangeable man that he is as uncomfortable as he makes me at times. It was not until I was much older and after I had been confronted with the fact that he was not my biological Father when I was seventeen years old, that I sincerely started to forgive and appreciate him no matter the childhood he gave me. I then realized that he gave me the best of himself, the best childhood he could provide for the person he is, and I was truly grateful to call him Dad. Now that I am an actual adult I know I had been lied to, yet at times I still find myself looking at my Mother through those same hypocritically shattered goggles that were repeatedly placed upon my head and I am trying to work through the shambles of my upbringing. Unfortunately there is something that I still hold inscrutably deep inside that I have yet to recognize, as I still hold umbrage bitterness towards her. Our relationship has long been a cynicism I am finding irrefutably intolerable and demising. Until I can let go of whatever is repressed involving her, I will permanently be finding myself running headfirst into a brick wall that already has my desiccated blood covering it from previous happenstances. I certainly do not aspire to abhor my Mother; I need to piece things together for good. Regrettably this only a few things haunting from my past and I have many other issues at hand, that I have yet to file away for the better.

Chasity