Am I Toxic

Today was a more than usual bad day. I had an argument with my father which led to him raising his fist to me. I understand living with someone who has a Mental Illness or Psychological issues is difficult. I also understand living with End Stage Renal Disease and going to dialysis 3 times a week can change a person’s personality and lead to depression.

In my 20 years of drinking my father knows of one incident where I was assaulted by a man. There were other times by other men, I just didn’t talk about them. When I started to really take sobriety seriously I decided it would never happen again. Not verbally or physically. Yet I find myself in the same situation the only difference is neither one of us is drinking.

My father is depressed, he had just come back from visiting my mother’s grave. I know he has things on his mind like, paying for dialysis, how to fix up the house before he passes, how to cut back on the amount of birds he has, making a fair will, what will happen to me, this list is constantly going through his head. I’ve tried to help but he won’t listen to me.

I have plenty of my own issues. Paying for my hospital bills, handling my Psychiatric Disorders when they seem to be resistant to everything the doctors try. My own physical health. My family doesn’t want to acknowledge just how bad it is. All of it. They do not want to try to understand any of it. The lists of what not to say to a loved one with Bipolar Disorder is useless. They have said it all. This is the most frustrating thing of all. I feel that they think I’m making it up.

I tried to talk to my sister today and she said “You are very difficult to live with.” What do I do with that? I could apply for housing, but the wait list for the wait list is almost 5 years. I could try to do it on my own but when I look there isn’t much in my price range. I love my dad very much. If I were to move out his health and well being would decline rapidly. I know this. But am I making things worse by staying?

When I found him sobbing on the couch I sat next to him. He said he didn’t know why he behaved that way. He never has before. He was ashamed. I’m the only one he talks to, shares the same interests with. He loves me. But we can’t go on this way.

I think it’s time for me to do something that I have been putting off for too long. Trying therapy again. Therapy has changed since I was 17 or 20. It will take work to find the right one and one who takes my insurance. I detest therapy. I’m hoping for a better way this time. Not one who gives me homework about where I see myself in 5 years. Or tells me to picture a stop sign when a certain behavior happens. That isn’t going to work for me. But something has to. I don’t want the people around me to be hurt by my illnesses. Not physically but their quality of life. Maybe mine too.

My Last Supporter

The diurnal depression is at it’s worse now and I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s the problems I’ve been having with my immune system and kidneys or if the medications just aren’t working.

It’s the same every morning. I have trouble physically getting out of bed. The muscles in my neck and shoulders hurt so bad it’s hard to lift my head from the pillow. I can’t stay in bed because my back and hips hurt too much from arthritis and osteoporosis. So I force myself.

I make myself eat a bowl of cereal even though I have no appetite. I drink water like I’m supposed to with my meds. The stents in the tubes going from my bladder to my kidneys cause me pain. The Urologist that was supposed to call to set up an appointment for a second opinion hasn’t called. It’s been 2 weeks. I called them and still got no response. My Hematologist called and wants to see me. That has me worried. He’s the one that is going to have answers. I tested positive twice for something called MGUS. It’s related to a specific protein in your blood. It also has to do with your white blood cell count and bone marrow. People with this usually get or have Multiple Myeloma.

This morning I was caught crying in the bathroom. My dad was in the basement and could here me. He yelled my name in his scary your in trouble voice. The one that makes the windows rattle. I could hear him throwing his tools and saying “Godamn!” repeatedly.

When I went to tell him goodnight he said “We’re going to have to sit down and talk soon”. I don’t know what he’s going to do. If he wants me to leave I have no place to go. My sister won’t put up with my crying either and I don’t want my nephews to see me like that. I won’t go to a group home. I’ll sleep in my car first.

I tried to explain what was going on. Everyone is sick of hearing it. They think I can turn it on and off at will. I try. I don’t want to live like this. I wish they knew that. I wish they knew how much it hurts.