skellington
02-16-2010, 06:29 AM
Brother is going manic, over some little bimbo. He's got bipolar. This isn't the first time.
For years I've had to be the brave son. The one who appreciates his life, the one who smiles, laughs and jokes. The one who his crazy brother will only talk to when even the doctors can't get a word out of him. The one who's been going through and through this shit since he was 15. The brother who is the only sane oldest one in the family for his little brothers to look up to (not that the don't look up to him), who puts on the brave face and walks through those god forsaken hospital doors. This isn't supposed to sound "oh poor me, my friends and personality are all so great but I hate my life".
Well...I take that back, it kind of is.
My brother isn't boring and he has plenty of friends, but the thing is, he has bipolar right, and it seems he can go in and out of his depression, and when he does, he gains the attention and care from all the people around him (i.e.Our family). He's a nurse who is in his last year at the hospital. He was offered a job that people put there name down for months and months in advance. He's been to Africa to build an orphanage. He has thousands in the bank. He has a high paying job at the hospital. He's never moved out of home. He has plenty of decent close friends. His life is on track.
I've moved out of home. I can't afford to pay my rent. I can't quit drugs (trust me I've tried/am trying). I couldn't afford to eat...at all (lost heaps of weight though =D), I can't pay my bills. I'm being evicted. I have no job. I haven't studied anything and have no qualifications.
I'm moving home because of all this. Now, I'm a good guy. I'm not arrogant, I'm nice, caring, all the rest. But for the last few months, I've never been so depressed in my entire life. Hitting rock bottom is exactly that. It's not something you see coming, it hits you right in the fucking face, and trust me, it hurts more than anything you can imagine.
In November 09, I've never been so set on suicide. I sat in my room, on my bed one night and was doing my best to think of a cliff face that I could drive my car over. One that would crush me and my car to bits. I got to the numb space. I could see what needed to be done, although I couldn't feel by that point, I knew if I didn't take the right steps, I would slowly start to feel again. This wasn't just a "oh my life sucks" kind of depression, this was a "death will fix all" kind of depression. If I was dead, I wouldn't have to take up room in my old house, pay/worry about the bills, the rent, the job, the studying, the debt, all the rest of it.
If you truly hit rock bottom, you'd understand.
Back on track, when I'd contemplated all this shit, I thought "Well Mark, if there's one last bit of hope left, it'll be at your old house". I figured, maybe the sight of my little brothers would make me want to stay on this planet. Or for some reason, on the way, a friend would call and genuinely ask how I was.
I got there. My little brothers were asleep. My step dad was drunk and almost passed out. My mother was obsessing and focusing her attention and affection on the 2 cats we have because of her loveless marriage she'd entered because "it was the right thing to do". My brother is walking around praying. And I'm laying on an old bed that was set up in my old room. Just laying there. I felt as if I was feeling every emotion on the planet all at once. I could hardly breathe. I just couldn't...I couldn't do it any more...But then the feelings stopped, I felt numb again. I somehow managed to get back in my car, drive to my house...ohhhh that's right haha, I went home and got so stoned I could hardly walk.
Now when my brother starts getting depressed about some girl who rejected him but is still friends with him, we never hear the end of it. The family gets concerned. We all then have to tip toe around him for the next few weeks just in case he goes manic, even though so long as he stays on his meds, we all know he'll be ok, but he's depressed, so...
When I start getting depressed. I'm shoved aside. Nobody sits with me and asks what's up. I go unnoticed. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder years ago, and now a recent doctor was telling me im skitzo something. And I don't want to give my life story, but I've survived a whole heap of shit that no child should ever have to deal with, it's a miracle I'm still here today.
When I attempted suicide for the first time (last time), my mother was away. She'd got back the day I got discharged from the mental ward. The first thing she did when she got back. She burst into my room. Said "this is fucking ridiculous", took my laptop and walked out. She never once asked me about why I did it. I assumed she was angry because I'd taken her prescription meds to do it. But we've never talked about it since. Like the other day she saw all my cuts on my arms after I'd just got out of bed (and forgot about them). She didn't say a word.
Now put all this on my brother. Had he tried committing suicide, the entire family would come rushing in to his bedside. Nobody came to see me.
I know I'm mentally stronger and more mature than my older brother, but just because I don't have manic episodes, doesn't mean my shit isn't important!!!
Phew. Sorry about that guys. Just had to type it out. I feel better now :)
...well, once I get paid at midnight and go for a cigarettes mission!:D
For years I've had to be the brave son. The one who appreciates his life, the one who smiles, laughs and jokes. The one who his crazy brother will only talk to when even the doctors can't get a word out of him. The one who's been going through and through this shit since he was 15. The brother who is the only sane oldest one in the family for his little brothers to look up to (not that the don't look up to him), who puts on the brave face and walks through those god forsaken hospital doors. This isn't supposed to sound "oh poor me, my friends and personality are all so great but I hate my life".
Well...I take that back, it kind of is.
My brother isn't boring and he has plenty of friends, but the thing is, he has bipolar right, and it seems he can go in and out of his depression, and when he does, he gains the attention and care from all the people around him (i.e.Our family). He's a nurse who is in his last year at the hospital. He was offered a job that people put there name down for months and months in advance. He's been to Africa to build an orphanage. He has thousands in the bank. He has a high paying job at the hospital. He's never moved out of home. He has plenty of decent close friends. His life is on track.
I've moved out of home. I can't afford to pay my rent. I can't quit drugs (trust me I've tried/am trying). I couldn't afford to eat...at all (lost heaps of weight though =D), I can't pay my bills. I'm being evicted. I have no job. I haven't studied anything and have no qualifications.
I'm moving home because of all this. Now, I'm a good guy. I'm not arrogant, I'm nice, caring, all the rest. But for the last few months, I've never been so depressed in my entire life. Hitting rock bottom is exactly that. It's not something you see coming, it hits you right in the fucking face, and trust me, it hurts more than anything you can imagine.
In November 09, I've never been so set on suicide. I sat in my room, on my bed one night and was doing my best to think of a cliff face that I could drive my car over. One that would crush me and my car to bits. I got to the numb space. I could see what needed to be done, although I couldn't feel by that point, I knew if I didn't take the right steps, I would slowly start to feel again. This wasn't just a "oh my life sucks" kind of depression, this was a "death will fix all" kind of depression. If I was dead, I wouldn't have to take up room in my old house, pay/worry about the bills, the rent, the job, the studying, the debt, all the rest of it.
If you truly hit rock bottom, you'd understand.
Back on track, when I'd contemplated all this shit, I thought "Well Mark, if there's one last bit of hope left, it'll be at your old house". I figured, maybe the sight of my little brothers would make me want to stay on this planet. Or for some reason, on the way, a friend would call and genuinely ask how I was.
I got there. My little brothers were asleep. My step dad was drunk and almost passed out. My mother was obsessing and focusing her attention and affection on the 2 cats we have because of her loveless marriage she'd entered because "it was the right thing to do". My brother is walking around praying. And I'm laying on an old bed that was set up in my old room. Just laying there. I felt as if I was feeling every emotion on the planet all at once. I could hardly breathe. I just couldn't...I couldn't do it any more...But then the feelings stopped, I felt numb again. I somehow managed to get back in my car, drive to my house...ohhhh that's right haha, I went home and got so stoned I could hardly walk.
Now when my brother starts getting depressed about some girl who rejected him but is still friends with him, we never hear the end of it. The family gets concerned. We all then have to tip toe around him for the next few weeks just in case he goes manic, even though so long as he stays on his meds, we all know he'll be ok, but he's depressed, so...
When I start getting depressed. I'm shoved aside. Nobody sits with me and asks what's up. I go unnoticed. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder years ago, and now a recent doctor was telling me im skitzo something. And I don't want to give my life story, but I've survived a whole heap of shit that no child should ever have to deal with, it's a miracle I'm still here today.
When I attempted suicide for the first time (last time), my mother was away. She'd got back the day I got discharged from the mental ward. The first thing she did when she got back. She burst into my room. Said "this is fucking ridiculous", took my laptop and walked out. She never once asked me about why I did it. I assumed she was angry because I'd taken her prescription meds to do it. But we've never talked about it since. Like the other day she saw all my cuts on my arms after I'd just got out of bed (and forgot about them). She didn't say a word.
Now put all this on my brother. Had he tried committing suicide, the entire family would come rushing in to his bedside. Nobody came to see me.
I know I'm mentally stronger and more mature than my older brother, but just because I don't have manic episodes, doesn't mean my shit isn't important!!!
Phew. Sorry about that guys. Just had to type it out. I feel better now :)
...well, once I get paid at midnight and go for a cigarettes mission!:D