You may rant about you friend, but you will never know what
it’s like to deal with someone who truly has issues and refuses help.
Neurotransmitters are no joke. They are not a conspiracy by big pharma.
Sometimes people’s brains suck and don’t make them. My anxiety has shown this
to me first hand. Mom and Dad both had depression and took pills that worked at
various states in their lives. Oftentimes people don’t have family, insurance,
or both. Mom may be gone, but you always had her, and you still have me. You
also have the luxury of living in California, which provides you healthcare.
You have support and access to treatment, and rather than compromise and look
for something that works, you still put me through the ringer even after we
agreed to do each other better. Yet here I am. Just last night you were telling
me how grateful you were for me not giving up, how you loved me. Then tonight
you get irrationally angry at a dumb joke, and I snap in frustration. I’m
sorry. Yelling is immature, and I should never yell unless its Charly grubbing
for food. If you think back on it, the last time I yelled was a month ago. I am
trying so hard, and I’m sorry I slipped. But rather than meet me halfway, you
shut down and then you sped off in your car with no insurance and that is not
registered, putting yourself at risk of a cop having a boring/shitty night. You
made me cry because yet again all my efforts felt worthless. I wished so hard
for Mom, but she is gone, and I am left to live with and try and help you
alone. On the bad days, it is crushing, but I persist.
I need to say some other things to try and make you
understand all that has happened and that yet Mom and I both stayed and tried
to help, that I am still trying no matter how sad and angry your actions make me.
You’ll never know how it feels to be afraid of someone you
love and afraid for them at the same time. I took it to extremes and cried and
ran to Mom, but since she died, I have learned how she enabled me and how I was
acting like a jerk a lot of the time. Still, you put so much stress on her and
me, and I yet here I am. The way she always was.
You will never know how each bad episode gives your loved
one a flashback and makes them experience PTSD. Last year, when you cut
yourself on New Year’s and ran off and were finally taken to the hospital, Mom
and I had terrible anxiety. Every sound we heard made us jump, made us wonder
if you came back. We cried to each other and both finally fell asleep sometime
after 3am. Mom didn’t even want to call you for the first day or so because she
was so traumatized. Yet she cashed in her saved, special quarters so you could
call us. She drove me to see you, and she finally relented along with me when
It was time to pick you up. We bought Taco Bell and brought you home under the
agreement of new beginnings, of listening to each other.
We persisted. Just like when we came to see you in Chino
Hills at that one place back in 2012, I think. I went to work having no idea
where you were and was worried because a girl called the cops that you were
threatening to harm yourself with a bag. We wouldn’t know for two more days
until they allowed you to call us. We came. We brought clothes. We saw and
talked to you. We promised to bring you home. This was where you were first
diagnosed. Looking back on the signs and symptoms, Mom believed you had been
bipolar since high school. She felt it described your negative behavior like
stealing, being influenced, and your strange yet amazing drawings. She felt so
bad she had never looked into it before, like she failed you somehow. You were
her son. She could never fully give up no matter what happened.
You may diagnose you fiend with your affliction, and I feel
badly for her if she has it. But you need help, too. I have agreed. I have
tried. But the flip flopping and the getting angry and the shutting me out
hurts. Grandmom is getting up there, and Uncle Rob and I have never been
terribly close. You are my flesh and blood brother, the only other one who
shares half of Mom and Dad with me. I just wish there were words I could say
that would make you see where I am coming from. Nothing I have written here was
with the intention to hurt you. I simply want you to understand, to truly try
and be better. You were in a manic episode yesterday based on your energy level
and how much you got done. (Yeah, I’ve been a sloth. I know there’s stuff I
need to do, and I promise I’ll do it.) Then today you were down and slept all
day to recoup that energy. Based on your mood, I’d say it was also a depressive
day. I have bad days, too. I recognize when you have them because you do have
normal moods. But your unregulated moods kill me emotionally and spiritually. Again,
I just want you to know. I am not making a declaration or anything. If we truly
are to get along, to be better, then I felt like I needed to let you know all
of this. If we aren’t honest with our feelings, then nothing can be better.
Just please read them and try to understand. Be rational when you discuss any
points with me. I just want to be normal.
