The Georgia Knitter’s Blog

Being Bipolar Sucks, but being bipolar with a life from hell is a bitch. I’m the latter. Thursday, January 10, 2008

Well, I got my pattern! WOOHOO! If I didn’t tell you about it, I found someone on Ravelry who had a copy of the Rainbow Set pattern I fell in love with last year who’s pattern I lost after returning from North Carolina. And I got it on the 31st, so I cast on that night.
I had a bipolar episode on New Year’s Eve as well. Mere hours before Aunt Brandi’s party. It was a wild one. Too much pressure, too much “I want” “I expect” “I need” “I demand” regarding knitting and money troubles and the stupid house and my family and so on and so forth. In other words, it was one humdinger of an episode. I tore my arm to shreds and everything. I sort of calmed down and got ready and we stopped at WalMart to get a long sleeve sweater and bandaging stuffs to take care of it all. I feel a LOT better. Sort of.
It’s still killing me. All of the worries. Everybody wants to talk to me about their problems, about money issues, about the house, how much they don’t like so-and-so relative (Gram, Steven, Mom whichever) and so on and so forth. It’s driving me crazy. Literally. I thought I had truly snapped Sunday. We took a load of garbage over to the dump, but before we could leave, we had to put some liquid in the van (something under the hood), Mom handed me the bottle filled with the remnants of it to put in the van, I put in the van on top of one of Gram’s hairbrushes and I started laughing thinking of how “well done” her hair would be if she used it then. lol And I kept laughing it felt alot better than how I was feeling. I figured keep laughing and maybe you won’t break. Fine and dandy. On our way home, we drove past this SUV thing that was pulled over on the side of the road, as we passed it, I looked over and there is a shotgun sort of pointed at the van. The driver was holding a shotgun out the window pointed at the woods across the street. Brilliance at its best, ya know. So we get home, Steven’s still an ass.
We finally made him go to church. And he brings this handheld multiple video game thing that Gram gave him for Christmas. And both of his cell phones (new one and old one), his mp3 (which he had playing all through church). And he sat and played games and listened to music all through church. Thankfully I had the foresight of sitting over with Ramona instead of letting Joel and Lesli sit over with us because then Joel would think it was okay behaviour.
Anyways, I had it with them all. So, I went for a walk. Even though I’m dressed for church, wearing flip flops, and mp3-less bc I bought a lemon (see below). And whilst I walked, I watched my blood run. I didn’t care anymore. Mom came and got me before I reached the projects (what a shame! Can you imagine what all the ppl who like to see me while I’m walking would think? Oh no! Who cares?!) and took me to get scratch-offs and mega millions at the Hurricane Store. So I went in with my arm still bleeding. And some guy followed me in with his buddy after he left his metal pipe outside the door, and he kept grinning at me like he thought I was something he could get at. Meanwhile on the way in I had told the moron that if he was carrying that while he committed a crime it would be considered a federal crime and he’d spend actual time in jail. And I got my tickets, went out to the car, he and his buddy came out and he smiles at me again. Dumb fuck, much??
It is really getting to be too much for me. I think..I think that if I break down again, there will be no coming back. And I don’t give a damn anymore.
Everytime money issues are mentioned, or someone uses me as a sounding board in my family, or someone mentions the house, or i feel pressured, or my family starts fighting, I cut myself. And Monday? Monday I had a horrible nightmare I COULDN’T wake up from until the very end. And as soon as I woke up, I started slashing.
I sat there in bed for about half an hour watching the blood just flow. I hate that nightmare. I hate that nightmare because I know that I can never forget it because it actually happened and because I’m still living in the same house as that bastard. I hate him for what he did to me. I hate him so very much. I hate him to the point that I will NEVER forgive him. I can’t. Not after what he did to me for nearly 4 years. And after I made it stop, after I figured that if I told one of my surrogate brothers what happened, he’d be dead, I told him no more, now, now he abuses the entire family, mentally, verbally and physically. Just like his father. I hate my brother. And my mom tells me that I don’t really hate him. He’s my brother, how could I hate him as much as I say I do? Well, gee, Mom, I tried telling you once, but you asked me why I would lie like that so I said I was just writing a song like one I heard on the radio. I wish I never had to sleep. I wish sleep didn’t come with dreams. And with dreams come nightmares. I stay up as long as I can in order to stay away from the memories of what he did to me and the horrors I feel when I remember. I try to keep them buried when I’m awake AND asleep, but I have little to no control of what I dream. No matter how I try I have to sleep. No matter how I try, I still have the dreams of the memories. 4 years of hell worth of memories is an eternity in a dream. My Uncles were assholes to my mom as a kid, her cousins were cruel to her and ostracized her at times as a kid, her brothers and their children hate her kids, my uncles made a slave of her and beat her as a kid, so what?! They never did what my brother did to me. I protected my brother all my life. I watched over him. I read to him. I helped him. I played legos with him. We moved and we were the only people we could trust. I tried to help him make friends. I helped with school stuff. I helped him with baseball stuff. I tried to protect him from our father. And he repays me by doing that to me for nearly four years. And my mom wants me to love him and get along with him?! I tried telling her, but she wouldn’t believe me once, why the fuck should I try telling her again? I knew what she wanted to hear in 9th grade when she read the song lyrics I wrote. So I told her what she wanted to hear. And I cut myself after every nightmare I have of it. Because I know that unlike most nightmares, it can come true, because it did for 4 years. And because I know that these nightmares are NEVER going to stop because I will most likely NEVER move out unless I can figure out a way to save money up for an apartment or a small house. Because I WILL have a little girl one day. And I will NOT let my brother live under the same roof as her. He will NEVER see her. NEVER. My little girl will NEVER know the kind of hell I went through as a little girl. So I’ll cut myself until I leave. I’ll watch my blood seep through the torn skin and watch it as it dries. And I’ll hide them from the kids and show them to the world because it’s the only way I will survive long enough to move out and away from that bastard I’m forced to call my brother.
So, I’m still working on my shawl. And the Rainbow Blanket. And the Rainbow Set. And a Baby Dress. And I’m going to be starting a baby boy’s pullover or cardigan this week. I’m being paid to knit a baby boy’s green sweater by one of my mom’s co-workers. $20 easy. And after it’s shown about the school. More orders. And more money. Which means, HELLO savings for a place of my own. That’s all I can think of for ways to save $$ to leave my past behind and these nightmares.
The 15th is Robbin’s birthday so, this Sunday Evening, I’ll have made a cake for a birthday party for Robbin at church.
This Friday, I’m going for a walk. A LOOOONG walk. I need to think and destress. So walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and walk.
I’ll be going for said walk with my new mp3. Because the one I got for Christmas decided to fuck itself up and only play music in one ear. So, we returned it Tuesday and got a refund, spent $20 more on the only mp3 KMart had in stock (because they didn’t know if they’d ever get another shipment of the one I had), and that was stressing as well. As was the reason we were all the way up in Warner Robins in the first place. Steven had an orthopaedic appointment and you know how he gets when its appointment time. ASSHOLE doesn’t even begin to describe it. Threatening, Racist remarks, cursing using words not even I would use, etc. Andrew personified in other words. It’s embarrassing beyond belief to have to sit in the waiting room at they psychiatrist’s and listen to him. Even though I had Nayudu as well. I mean, what kind of psychiatrist
¤ tells you that he’s lessening your depakote dosage and adds 250 mg of the shit to your current 500 mg!
¤ no your way out of the office, tells you that your getting too fat and maybe you should start exercising!
HUH? What the hell kind of psychiatrist does that? But that’s the only issues I got with Nayudu, but Steven? Steven comes up with new racial slurs, racist comment, cultural comments, religious comments, accusing him of being a member of al Qaeda (he’s friggin Indian! and I think he’s Hindu, but I’m not sure). Not to mention mimicking the actions of shooting a rifle, or whatever gun he happens to think of, threaten to blow him up by sticking a grenade in his — well, you get where I’m going, right?
Hence the reason, I don’t act on any attraction to ANY guy mostly. That cute guy who sorta flirts with me at the Hurricane Store, that guy at Golden Corral, the guy at Arby’s, etc. And hence the reason, I don’t have friends over.
I wish I could get away from my entire family for an hour or two every now and then. You know, just forget that my family hates me and that my family sucks.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to map out where exactly I’m walking tonight or tomorrow night. (Tonight as in Thursday and tomorrow night as in Friday Night). I think I want to walk a different path than usual.