Family

So...Family. One of those words I feel is hard to define. It's about as hard as "home". I think a lot about family, though, because by blood I don't have much of it, and my step-dad's family...doesn't feel like family to me. I adore them, but they're just not really "family" to me. So what is family? Family is those people who stick around no matter what. For me, family is those people who loved me at the deepest depression, and the people who loved me when I got out of the hospital. Family is those people who dealt with my crazy mood swings and bizarre behavior before we knew I was bipolar. My mother, who sacrificed so much of herself for my sake. While I was in elementary school, she drove 20 minutes away just so I could keep going to the best elementary school in town (despite only being able to afford a single room in the bad part of town). My sister Elsie, who has dealt with my ass since I was two years old. She's even lived with me. She is always there for me, and I would do anything for her. My sister Amy, I didn't even meet her until I was 13 or 14, but she's always treated me just like a sister would. I love her absolutely to death, and she doesn't know but she was one of the few people who was there for me when I got out of the hospital. My best friend Frank, who has dealt with the absolute worst of me. He's seen the worst of the worst, the lowest lows, and the craziest of the mania. He's still my best friend, despite all the shit I've put him through. Maybe I have my experiences to thank, but I don't define family as a blood relation. That blood relation is just a coincidence you choose to follow up with. Some people disagree and think it's all about blood, but in my life I've learned blood doesn't mean much.

Step two? Making sure those people who've earned the title of family, know how appreciated they are...

Looking Back

Here I am, in my favorite month. I have always loved December. It contains my favorite holiday: Yule. However, with the holidays surrounding me, it's hard not to think too much. So now I will attempt to put together everything in a semi-organized fashion.

The holidays are family time. Whether you have family or not, everyone knows that's what it's for. I used to have a family. I used to go over to my grandmother's every Christmas morning and she made the most amazing cinnamon rolls I've ever tasted to this day. We ate, then we opened presents, talked and played, then we had dinner. After dinner, we'd play poker and talk more, and it was just an amazing day where everyone was together. Actually, Thanksgiving was much the same. Only breakfast was usually breakfast burritos, biscuits, and things like that. Grandpa would watch the parade, football, whatever he felt like, I would run around with my cousins (they're all younger than I am so I was always designated to play with them and watch them) and occasionally talk with the adults. Come about 2 in the afternoon we would eat a large meal. We'd have pie and then just sit around and talk until the smaller kids went to bed. After they went to bed we'd have a family poker game and maybe snack on leftovers (Grandma could do amazing things with leftover rolls and turkey). I have so many memories of the holidays. I pretty much lived at my grandparents' house for the first years of my life.

"...the first years of my life." After my mother divorced my biological father (Steven), things started getting very awkward and very rocky. Steven and I had some spats and eventually I didn't see the rest of the family much. When I did, it was awkward, and if Steven was around it was downright unbearable. Anymore I couldn't honestly say who pulled away first, I felt like they chose Steven over me, but maybe they felt like I was leaving them because of Steven. Then my mother married my Dad, and we moved away. Being an hour and a half away did not help this situation any. My grandfather had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and a year after we moved I went back for a visit. That December, he died. Since then I've stopped calling my grandmother at all, much less on a regular basis. Only through the strange magic of Facebook have I connected with my family. So this is where I am now, trying to reconnect and not knowing how.

This leads me to my problem with the holidays. I have such fond memories, and I get so excited, but every year when the holidays roll around it's never with the family I grew up with, the food is never the same (now that Grandpa has died and Grandma has lost her sight, their amazing cooking has died out), things just aren't how I feel they should be. I'm always conflicted, feeling ungrateful or angsty. At the same time, I can't much help how I feel. This year, again, I am excited and hoping for the best, but I was sorely disappointed at Thanksgiving and hope Christmas turns out better. I ended my Thanksgiving in tears, and I feel no one deserves that on Christmas.

On a related note, this is all amplified by a very simple fact: it is December, and December marks colder weather, and colder weather marks my manic cycles. So, as a supplement to my confusion and upset, I am experiencing the general discomfort and restlessness that comes with mania. I will be honest right now with everyone who may possibly see this, the urges to self-harm are growing stronger by the day. I never realized before that the depressed urge to cut or burn is much less passionate than the manic urge. The mania brings this feeling of crawling out of my skin, like burning is the only thing that will keep me in myself. Like a nice searing pain is the only thing that will make being myself bearable, is the only thing that will calm me. Instead of just not feeling better, I literally feel like I may cease to exist if I don't hurt myself.

So there it is. I'm not sure what I'll do about all this, I don't think there really is anything to do, but at least it's out.