Drinking alcohol is like choosing to stop taking your medication. If you think about it, alcohol renders the medications ineffective while screwing with your synaptic conductivity and your cognitive reasoning abilities. Now, I’m not talking about one drink here and there, but choosing to drink regularly and copiously (like I have been) slowly erodes the capability for the medicine to work. When I look back over the past 4 months, I see a directly connected pattern with drinking heavily and my rapid cycling.

I was angry enough to frighten and abuse my dog, the one who I picked up off the side of the road. The one who’s owners dumped and left her to try and survive on her own. Just a pup. She only deserves love and compassion, but she is afraid of me, because of my bipolar. She can sense it, sometimes 24hrs before a change takes place. So, I come home and she cowers and pees on the floor and what do I do? I yell at her and hit her and kick her outside. One time I was so angry that she ran off and I didn’t go looking for her, I just left her out all night in the cold. I think that I wronged her the most. Even more than my son. But my son has suffered emotional abuse because of this as well and he is afraid of me too.

I have been off my medication. I have been foolishly thinking that I can drink alcohol. I have been denying that I have this illness by drinking. I’ve been denying this illness because its serious and scary and… heavy I guess. No one likes to discuss it so that must mean its serious and heavy right? I have to fear my own mind, or I have to stay sober, clean, whatever you want to label it and move forward. Knowing that there will be ups and downs. Regrets. Rumination. But no unforgivable acts. No more hurt and shame. No more blame. No more asking for forgiveness. A little humility serves me well right now.

I really don’t want to keep writing about this. I am severally depressed about what I have done. I not only hurt my son (and his dog), I put my father in an ambulance due to the things I texted him. I told him he replaced all of us with a new nuclear family. I told him I believed that he did’t care one whit about me or what I go through each day, living with this disorder, and with my life in and of itself. I explained it to him many times and brought up the illness but he didn’t want to talk about it. So, one hour after I texted him my nastiness, he collapsed in the garage and passed out.

It’s my fault. My mom reassures me that his father had black-outs as well and not to take it on. But thats ridiculous. The doctors said it was due to dehydration, which is also ridiculous. I’m sure no one told him about my message. But my step mother must hate me now. She knows I caused this, but since she’s such a religious fanatic, she believes in forgiving forever.

I think it’s about not listening. He used to listen to me. We used to have our own time together, but as he said on the phone, “the hurt goes both ways”. Maybe it’s my fault that I left. I suppose this is all my deal, after all, I chose to leave. Hell, I even left the country for 4 years. He was ready to jump on a plane immediately when I sent my first text. It was firm, but not cruel, asking for $20,000 and explaining why. He said I could still come home and we could spend the weekend together,  just he and I, to talk face to face. Why didn’t I do that!

I knew not to do this. I knew to just let my feelings go, take the higher ground. But I finally had to open my big mouth. I’m sure it was the gin and tonics, or the wine. I’m not supposed to be drinking at all with my bipolar disorder. I think I finally realize how dangerous it is for me to drink. Maybe this is what it feels like to hit bottom. I wanted to give away my own son and nearly killed my dad with my harsh words towards him in his weekend state.

I can’t continue writing this. I’m suicidal enough already.

Unforgivable.

I ran away on Friday. I finally lost it and left. I left my house, my dog, my son…

I came home from work feeling exhausted and I knew I needed to rest, sleep for an hour in the chair, but I forced myself to get up and take the dog for a walk. We went to her favorite trail, my son and I. Its shady and a flat walk which I can usually handle after a long day. She’s always allowed off leash. For a year she’s been under voice command. Something I’m really proud of her for. She got up ahead, like she usually does, but is always quick to come back an make eye contact with me. This day I was too tired to care. I felt like I was going to collapse.

As we rounded the corner some angry woman with a rather large, aggressive sheep dog yelled, “Don’t you have a leash for your dog!?” It was obvious that the two dogs were getting into a tussle, but I know my dog, she is submissive, especially towards a larger dog. I assume her dog made the first move and mine got defensive, hackles up, growling. So I reply to this surly bitch, “No I don’t”. “Well you should have a leash for your dog!”. If I wasn’t being pushed to my breaking point, I probably would have apologized and told her to just calm the fuck down. At this point I had already called my dog back and was holding her by her collar. She was being a good girl. So I’m like, “Look I’m having a bad day! Just leave me alone!!”. “FUCK YOU” she hurls at me, so of course I have to respond back with a big FUCK YOU TOO!!!

And as if to add insult to injury, the bitch keyed my brand new car.

We sat by the the edge of the creek. The dog trying her best to hide from us under the lip of the bank.  My son was worried about her, worried about me, about what was going to happen next. Then… something took over. Things started to move very slowly, and I said to him, I have to go away. You have to go stay with your dad for a while. He started to cry. For how long? I don’t know. A week, two weeks, a month. I don’t Know! Just tell me you’ll come back… I need to know you’re going to come back. YES, I’LL COME BACK!

I got us back to the house and started packing. I hastily threw stuff into a bag, making random choices, not really caring much. I told my son to pack a bag for his dads house. Put anything into it that he wanted over there. I grabbed a sleeping bag and a pillow for me. Threw everything into the car, leaving the lights on windows open, I’m not even sure I locked the front door. As we left, my son handed me the iPad, “Just in case you might need it” he said. That’s my little angel, always thinking of others. We loaded into the car and he asked me if he called if I would pick up. I said “Of course”. We got to his fathers house quickly, I told him to grab his pack and I grabbed all of his coats and the dog, walked right in and dumped everything on the floor. All I said was ” I can’t do this anymore.”

Who does that? Who talks to their 10 year old child that way? A monster.

It’s unforgivable. Absolutely Unforgivable.

And I still feel sick enough to end my life to escape the repercussions of it all and putting all of the pieces back together. I guess I knew this day would come. When my son would take a major hit for my disorder. And here it is… now here it is…