When I was five years old my grandmother bought me a cabbage patch doll. The doll’s name was Ethel and she came with adoption papers. Prior to that I didn’t know what adoption meant. After my grandmother explained it to me I indulged myself with the fantasy that I was adopted and that my parents were not really my parents.
I had almost convinced myself that my real mother was forced to put me up for adoption, but one day she would find me and take me back. Perhaps I watched “Annie” one too many times.
After my then step-father raped me I stopped pretending I was adopted. However, I replaced the fantasy with another. I imagined that the woman I had known as my mother kidnapped me from a loving family and one day they would find me and rescue me from the living hell my life had become.
Eventually, I had to face the facts about my background. I was not adopted or kidnapped. I accepted the truth when I was about thirteen years old; after which I thought of myself in terms of being the illegitimate daughter of a bipolar, wife-beating, alcoholic, murderer and a selfish bipolar drug-addict.
I knew I was doomed. The realization made me feel worse about myself. I also felt so much rage it scared me. I didn’t know what to do with all the pain that was festering inside me and that is when the self-injury became a coping mechanism as opposed to only punishment.
I haven’t cut or bloodlet since New Year’s Eve. This time last year I still had stitches from that New Year’s Eve. It’s been almost a year since my stint in the hospital. I had hoped I would have made more progress than I have. Some days it feels like I’m just as fucked up as I was before I checked myself into Brookhaven.
On this day..
About BipolarChick (599 posts)
I’m a thirty-something bipolar woman, an advanced tech agent with a pay tv provider, tax preparer for a local charity, current Tulsa inhabitant, and I’m one credit shy of an Associate Degree in Liberal Arts. I’m working on recovery from self-injury and working toward stabilizing my bipolar symptoms. Recovery is very important to me. I’ve been mostly single the past few years and plagued by a seemingly never-ending series of jackasses, assholes, and married men. I have no children of my own, but I have lots of nieces and nephews I love to spoil.