She's Always Beside Me

I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when I was eleven, following a year of hell where I imagined myself killing my family, scared that I would grab a knife and be unable to not stop it. I was in full psychosis. I was afraid my cat would kill me in my sleep. I promised that if my mom died, that I’d run in front of a car. I was manic at times, and extremely depressed at others. Everyone told my mom that children couldn’t get Bipolar, but she never gave up, and took me to many therapists and doctors.

She dealt with my mess every single day and never showed me an ounce of her fear and sorrow at my condition. For me, she hid every sharp object. She made sure I never ran into traffic when I was manic. She let me be weird in public when it didn't hurt anyone or me, all to make me feel a little bit normal. I wasn't normal at all.

She restrained me sometimes when I had an episode, but always with love and soft reassurances as I sobbed about random things, some legitimate and others slightly ridiculous now that I look back on it. All the while, my dad wasn't in the picture, never checked up on me, and didn't pay his share of my medical bills. We didn't have insurance to cover many doctors and psychologists, but she kept going to each one in my area and out of town to get me help.

It was thanks to her determination that I am normal now, but for bouts of depression. We found the right balance of medication and therapy. If it wasn't for her, I don’t think I’d be alive right now. Or I’d be in a mental institution to keep me safe from myself. In my opinion, I don't think there was a better person in the world to keep me safe and as happy as I could be, and am now.

Ever since then, I’ve been through a lot, not all having to do with my mental illness. I was bullied through junior high and high school. I made friends and lost friends. I had people leave me without a word, without being given a reason. Abandoned by friends and family alike. But my mom was always there. She knows me so well, she notices when I have any sort of change in my emotions, and talks to me about them.

She is like my social life counselor.

I take care of her now as well. It is mutual, since she suffered a traumatic brain injury, and isn’t so much herself anymore. Things have changed a lot since then, but she never changed her love for me, or her patience, even when she is suffering like I was. It’s hard to be in her shoes, but I admire how she handled my own mess, seemingly so easily at the time. I do my absolute best to return the favor. Even with a concussion, headaches, and sometimes the inability to drive, she is still my counselor in many ways, and always listens to my problems, even though I sometimes feel they are now insignificant compared to her own.

I know she’ll always be there for me, even if my psychosis rears its ugly head, because we’ll be in it together, like we always are. I don't doubt there is no mother like her in the world. Others can be good, but I just can’t imagine a better mom than my own. Quarantine has changed nothing, we’re still as close as best friends, but also have the strongest mother-daughter bond.

She is, and was, my angel, and always will be. It’s thanks to her that I have a fulfilling life, and I hope I am returning the favor. Thank you mom, I love you.