The Bipolar Life

There has always been a little (and I mean little) part of my conscious that knew things were bad. Decisions I have made in life were always impulsive, weren't thought out all the way through, and were hardly ever good. Being bipolar, my ups and downs always had me going in ways I shouldn't have.I went un-diagnosed for almost twenty years of my life. I could never explain the rash decisions I made to my parents, friends, or anyone I knew.

Growing up, I had anything and everything I could ever want or need. My family was in no means rich, but we weren't poor, either. My parents had good jobs, were both home for dinner every night, and helped with homework and softball practice. I was a pitcher, so nightly practice was a major thing. I tried to play softball in high school, but I didn't really care for it. I stayed busy on the weekends doing tournaments with my fast pitch team, never having time for a boyfriend or any friends for that matter.

Ninth grade year rolled around, and things were going pretty well. I was making great grades, excelling in some classes more than others. I had a few friends that were loyal to me, helped me through girl issues, and we all had fun together. That all ended pretty abruptly in the middle of the school year.

I was on home from school one normal day, thinking things were going well in my life. As the bus pulled up to my house, I noticed the garage door was open and both of my parents were home, which was odd since my mom worked later in the evening than my dad. I instantly had this feeling of utter dread, wondering what I could have possibly done to be in trouble since that would be the only logical explanation for them to be home together. I walk in to the house to find my mom folding laundry in the living room and my dad sitting in his chair watching TV. My mom looked like she had been crying, so warily I walked in and sat on the couch.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

She looked up at me and I knew then she had been crying for a while. She sighed, and grabbed a piece of paper off the end table next to her.

"Your dad filed for divorce."

She put the paper down and watched me absorb the news. I wasn't sure how to react. I had emotions rolling around in my head that I didn't even know existed. I was furious, sad, frustrated, confused, and with all the feelings hitting me at a hundred miles an hour, all i could do was get up off the couch and walk to my room.

My mom followed me, and asked if I was okay and I just kind of shook my head still trying to process what she had told me. My dad came in the room after us with tears rolling down his face. He just looked at me and sat down on the bed next to me, grabbing me up in a hug.

"I love you, Meg. Don't you ever think otherwise. I will always love you, and this is in no way you or your sisters fault."

I started crying at that instant with such force I felt like I was going to puke. I took some deep breathes while still in my dads arms and kept asking myself why he would do this. How could he just leave his family? What could my mom have done to deserve this?

The next day, dad packed up all his things and left, moving in to a small house in the housing addition a few streets away from our house. Once he got settled in, he wanted my sister and I to come over and stay the weekend with him. My sister and I were so hurt still that we didn't want to leave mom at all. We knew she was hurting and we wanted to be with her to comfort her. In our minds, why should she be alone when it wasn't even her choice for this, anyways?

Mom loaded us up in the car and drove us to his house, where she had to drag us out of the car in the driveway when we pulled up. As she walked us to the front door, my dad came out and met us near the door. He took some of our stuff and set it down inside the door, then ushered us in the house. My mom was in the middle of trying to say goodbye to us and give us a kiss when she started crying. She waved to us and started to say goodbye agian when dad just slammed the door right in her face.

He took our things and set them in a room he said was ours. It was empty except for a bed and a dresser. He said we would have to share the bed until he gets another one, and he walked away back to the living room. My sister and I just sat there holding each other and crying for our mom.

The next day, my dad took us out for ice cream at Braum's. He made us feel special and loved like he never did before. He took me for a ride on the motorcycle, letting me drive my own while him and my sister rode another one.

Any time we stayed with him he took us to do exciting things, like he was trying to really impress us to make us want to stay. The more things he did however, the more we wanted our mom to be with us. When we were home with her, she was all business, making sure homework was done and we practiced our pitching.

About six months later, my dad decided to come home after I started skipping classes at school and my grades were dropping. By then, though, it was already too late for me.