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.

So it goes...

What am I to do with all this silence?

I am writing because I need to. Not because I have anything to write about, not because there's something I'm just dying to get out, but because I don't know how to really write anymore. No matter what I do for inspiration it is just gone. Words don't flow out of me like they used to. I am no longer a poet, and I am barely a writer. The things that used to inspire me have no affect. Self improvement...fantastic...but now what? What am I to do with this horrible stop in the flow? What am I supposed to do about this inability to write anything I can be proud of? Hopefully, I can just keep writing and I will see it return. Maybe some of what I come up with will make it's way here. Sadly, nothing I've done very recently is worthy of anything past the trash can. Here's hoping.

Growing.

I try to work on so many different things at once, and it never quite works out. I feel so scattered and restless lately. I dance my days away, and I wish I were on stage, but do I ever do anything about that desire? Of course not. On the bright side, however, I am certainly doing something about my desire to become a nurse. In the last few weeks it has occurred to me that my next goal is to really stick to something. I am going to stick to school. I am going to break down that wall I always hit. It is going to happen, and I will reach my goals. Now, I'm not exactly sure how to make it happen, but I plan on working pretty damn hard to figure it out.

In other news, I'm finally liking who I am. I would like to continue on this path and just get better and better. I'm becoming even more calm, more tolerant, and mentally a lot stronger. It happens so gradually, but it is so worth it.

Ever-changing

Something I pride myself on is that I am not afraid of change. I mean, obviously I take time to adjust and certain changes are more uncomfortable than others, but I do not run scared. I constantly TRY to change for the better, because I know there is no such thing as perfection, and let's be honest: I started at the bottom. So now I'm trying to find the (physical..I already have the mental) motivation to enact some changes. I'm trying to figure out what my resources are so I can pull them together and use them. I have this sudden drive to succeed. For the first time in a very long time, I've also felt like I can succeed. I feel the ability/strength/will in me.

I have big plans for myself, for my life. And I'm actually really excited. I absolutely love my need for change, because I'm excited and motivated, and I'm not scared at all. Not even of failure. Because there is not such thing. Not in life. Life success is something you continually work for, not something you pass or fail at. Have I failed at individual tasks through life? Of course. Have I failed at living? Certainly not, and I don't plan to.

I have more to say on this and other subjects, all related to changes I am making, but I prefer not to give away everything at once.

Normalcy

Normalcy is not for me. I'm just not good at it. I only hope it won't get in the way of the things I hope to accomplish. I don't want to blend in, it just doesn't appeal to me. It's not exactly that I want to be famous, or be stared at or anything like that, I just hate being everyone else. This is not how I've always been, it's something I've grown to realize. I remember when I was younger, I used to try so hard to be just like everyone else. I was never very good at it, and it made it even harder to make friends when I was little. I used to always try to like what my classmates liked and wear what they wore and whatnot, hoping it would make life a little easier. They never bought the act and I was never very good at it. A fantastic liar who can't even pretend to be normal. Anyway, I've at least come to terms with that and learned to not want to be normal, but I still wonder if it messes things up for me. What if that interferes with the life I want for myself?

Basically, right now I'm in school and I feel like I'm starting to fail again because I've been sick for over a week and didn't make it to class for so long. I really hope I can make this up and at least pass my classes. Hopefully I can see a counselor soon and we can talk about what I want and where I'm going and how to get there. I don't know, but I'm worried, I'm nervous, I'm downright scared.

Can't find the words...

It is an odd experience to look back through one's past...especially from their own perspective at the time. Maybe I'm alone on this one, but when I look back, I see it through my eyes now, not then. So looking back at how I felt then is always strange. I find it's a very quick and obvious way to see how much I've changed. I worry that I don't write as much as I used to and then another year or two from now I won't have the same insight I can now.

Actually, what worries me even more is that I barely write at all anymore. In general. No poetry, that used to flow so easily. I haven't even added to my book in weeks. I suppose that's to be expected when one isn't depressed anymore, but it was always that one talent of mine. I never felt particularly good at anything else, and now that's gone, too....