When I was a child, I always wanted to escape. Get someone to take me away somewhere. I don’t know why exactly I felt this way. It was usually on a train though. I would imagine my bed being a train car that I was being whisked away in as I fell asleep. Tucked tightly between my two favorite stuffed animals for the night. Totally protected. No one could get me as the train sped along the tracks and the gentle rolling of the engine eventually allowed me to drift off…

I’m not sure if I had a bad childhood. Truth is, I don’t remember most of it. Like, any of it. I have a few early memories of fishing out on the pier with my dad, exploring abandoned houses, laying out on the driveway at 4am to watch a meteor shower. That was a good one! He was away on business most of the time, so when he got back it was all about us. Yes, I’m definitely a “daddy’s girl.” Still am. But he was there for me, even when he wasn’t. He was present. He was the present parent.

My mother on the other hand… we had a different story. I remember her always in a string bikini laying splayed out next to the pool supposedly drinking “iced tea.” God I hated her. I reveled in the fact that she was a poor swimmer and if I wanted to I could drown her in the shallow end. Instead I did what felt the only healthy responsible thing to do (leave) and head out into the woods. Well, I knew she wouldn’t follow me there either. Might beak a nail.

So I grew up in the woods. I spent my days high up in the Beechnut trees napping in their long smooth limbs that would cradle me and sway with the beach breeze. Inevitably, dusk would fall and I would come home when it was dark enough to get scolded. My snotty ass comment would be somewhere along the lines of ‘why didn’t you just send my brother out to get me?’ We both knew his aversion towards the woods was probably worse that her own. Might get dirty.

I just realized last night it has been nine months, nine… months… since I started seeing my therapist, which ironically began December 1st. Easy to remember. It began with my idea to just get out of the funk that I was in and reintegrate myself back into GH. I hated being back here! I had so many job offers refused and dug myself into a pretty deep hole that I would now classify as clinical depression. I blew off an entire year doing nothing. Binge watching Hulu and Netflix. Having a totally emotionless affair, its sole purpose, sex, and only sex. Well, ha, once I found out that this amoral son of a bitch was screwing my mother 20 years ago… lets just say, it left a sour taste in my mouth.

My first reaction was to destroy this persons career, key his car, then burn his house down. For my mother… I had other plans. She had a different demise coming to her. You see, she sat there and listened to me talk about this confusing relationship for an entire year. A fucking year! Now I know what was so confusing about it. Talk about the ultimate betrayal. No, my plans for her were much different. I thought I would start by sending black roses to her door. On fire. Couldn’t figure out who would deliver them for me though… “I’ll tip you an extra 20 if you light these on fire before you ring the bell.”

And then there’s my brother. He laughed in my face when I sickeningly, rightfully, became an absolute ball of fury over this news. He was after all the one to spill the beans, only to say, “I thought you knew?” And that would make it okay??? What the fuck is wrong with these people?! It was “common knowledge” supposedly. Like the sun and the moon representing day and night. Yeah, that kind of common knowledge. That kind.

But enough of that crap. It’s time to dig in to where I am now. Nine months later. This is where it gets interesting anyway. Back to the psychotic breaks and bipolar taking total control again.