The beast is swirling and rising, trying to devour me, again, but I fight back. I have too much to live for, too much to fight for to let him win. As I sit on my bed sobbing, I feel so lost and utterly alone. I sob uncontrollably and loudly, I know I am losing control.
The beast is bipolar. Most days there are slight reminders of my disability, while other days the beast wrangles me to the floor, and I wrestle to break free.
It is Easter and my stepson dropped by to get some lasagna, while I thought he was staying for dinner, yet another miss-communication. He wanted to discuss his plans for the future, and one of his plans included living in my home. I just told him he couldn't live here.
We fought. He yelled. I screamed and sobbed. The argument ended with him sitting in the dining room ignoring my sobs. Shortly thereafter, he left. My husband gave him a ride. I kept on crying. I was still crying when my husband returned home. I was hoping for someone to help me reason through my thoughts and emotions, someone sane, but my husband was too busy eating his lasagna and pretending nothing was wrong, his usual M.O. I really really need him.
I run upstairs and slam the bedroom door repeatedly. Then I run downstairs and scream at my husband. I declare my spiteful regret for ever loving and taking care of his hateful son, and I tell him that I feel like dying. I pick up my phone and scream that I am going to call a hotline, and talk to someone who cares. Someone who can help.
I hate, hate, hate myself; I can do nothing right. I want to die, and if I wasn't a coward I would do more than just have the extreme need to die.There are just some things that just rock my core. I have heard many call them triggers. I was literally brought to my knees by a visit by my 19-year-old stepson. Someone I dearly love. Yes, I have to look back at photographs of his youth to dissolve the anger and bitterness to see and open the love I have for him, but it is still there hidden.
I am so angry. I love him! I have loved him, and as he was growing up, I did my very best to be a mother for him. Maybe that is what the problem was, but I am not going to argue the dynamics of what a relationship between a stepmother and a stepchild should be. It is just so difficult loving someone as your own, and it isn't reciprocated.
I don't know maybe you have felt like everybody hates you, and nobody understands. But this pain was multiplied. My stepson has just told me the most dreadful words that I never wanted to hear. "But Kara, she's my mother." And it just wan't just the words, it was the tone. What I really want to know is what am I? Did I imagine all those years I took care of him?
It's time someone finally spoke the truth, and it appears that only one that is going to speak up for myself is me. When his father wanted to run away, and reinvent his life, who was it that encouraged him to stay? Who explained to him the effects, pain, and heartbreak of divorce on a child? Who emphatically stated that weekends, holidays, and summers do make a difference in a child's life?
It was me. I have felt the lack of a father two times over. I was the engine in their relationship. If there wasn't a me, there wouldn't have been a them. I drove an hour each way to bring them together.
I had done this and so much more. And yes as the years wore on, and he moved in with us. I have never felt that he loved me. I have felt his anger bristling to the surface. I have felt his rejection when I asked him to eat a family dinner with my daughter and I. I have felt hurt after I pulled into the driveway and I saw his shadow ascend to the stairs so he could burrow in his bedroom. I suppose I have always wanted more, but maybe there is nothing more to attain.
Since my argument with my stepson, I vowed I would never go to his wedding, if he ever got married. I feel so displaced in his life, so much like a third wheel. Many people have taken the time to explain to me and my husband how I should have nothing to say about anything in his life. I fear going to the ceremony just sitting there. Not being invited to be part of any of the symbolic rituals because I am nothing. I am not his mother, and therefore I guess I am nothing.
I suppose that if he gets married i'll go; I am not heartless, and yes I love him. But I don't know how to take the rejection that I am sure to experience.
All I can say a week later after this experience is I am still raw, and yes I am sane. I could give you the boring details of how my husband and I finally discussed the argument, but instead I wanna know how would you react? Is any of your loved ones mentally ill? How do you handle it when things begin to fall apart?
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