Life in the Bipolar Lanes: The Seeds of Guilt

Guilt. It is a powerful emotion isn't it? At least in most people. I am often amazed by the lack of guilt some people seem to feel. You know the ones...people sitting stoically in a courtroom as a verdict is read that proclaims them guilty of murder, child abuse, or some other heinous act. And yet, there they sit, seemingly without any remorse. It boggles the mind. 

I myself have the opposite problem. I can bring up memories over 45 years old and feel the guilt as if it was only yesterday. That is a lifetime of guilt, and it is a heavy burden to bear. A lot of time and therapy went into vanquishing some of this guilt. Some I have simply learned to keep at bay...most of the time. 

My first experience with guilt occurred at the tender age of 3 years old. Yes, I have memories of my life at this early age. Remember, memories are kept because they hold significance for us. The significance of these early memories are for the most part because they focus on my grandfather, Frank. Frank was actually my step-grandfather, but I do not believe I even knew that at the time. To me he was simply Grandpa Frank, a wonderfully kind man who loved and doted on me and gave me Dentyne gum when I came to visit. And the visits were often. See, Grandma & Grandpa Frank lived in a trailer next door to us, so I saw them at least once a day, and usually much more often.

My memories of Grandpa Frank are memories I have clung tightly to over the years. His smiling face, things he gave me, the time he took his teeth out for me! He was the perfect Grandpa. Unfortunately I only had 3 years with Grandpa Frank. During that time my Grandma was a shadowy background figure in my memories. Grandpa Frank took center stage. Grandpa Frank's death would change all of that.

It was fall, and my mother told me that Grandma wanted to talk to me. Grandma took me outside to the front yard. She asked if I had noticed that Grandpa Frank had been gone for a few days. She then proceeded to tell me that Grandpa Frank was never coming back. He had died. The remainder of the conversation was to be seared into my 3 year old brain for the rest of my life. Me, "Why did Grandpa have to die?" Grandma, "I don't know, probably because you were so mean to him."

~Marla

Life in the Bipolar Lanes: Early Childhood Memories

My Family

Early childhood memories. The wispy bits and pieces of our 2, 3, or 4 year old selves that continue to live on inside us. We all have them to one extent or another. For some they are easily recalled, others find them elusive or nonexistent. Often they are attached to events of significance. Events that were significant to the child we once were, not necessarily significant to those around us. These memories mold us in incredible ways, at times shaping us into the person we will become…or at least the person we perceive ourselves to be.

I learned something important in therapy as an adult. The past can indeed hold the key to the present. My childhood memories were skeletons that needed to come out of the closet and be addressed before healing and change could ever occur. As I write about my journey I will need to talk about my family. I want to do this honestly. If you are a family member you may recognize yourself in my memories. Please understand these are memories through a child’s eyes, not an adult’s. Additionally, some of my extended family may learn some unpleasant facts about someone they looked up to and loved. Just because this woman was unlovely to me does not mean she was a bad person, but understanding her role in how I perceived myself was a key part of learning to cope with those feelings and overcome them. Writing this will take time. It is difficult for me to write about without bringing up old feelings. Something I do not want to do on a daily basis. Please be patient with me.

There are many, many, children who have had childhoods more difficult and unhappy than my own. Not all these people end up with a mental illness. I do not believe my childhood led me to become bipolar. What I do believe, is that it exacerbated certain symptoms and made coping more difficult.  Anxiety has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and that very definitely had its roots in my early childhood. Guilt and feelings of worthlessness were early companions as well. These were set in place as early as four years old, and not addressed until many years thereafter. By that time the negative reel in my head had been looping over and over for a very long time.

You are too shy, you are mean, you are a liar, you are lazy, you are stupid, everything is your fault, you only think of yourself, you are afraid of everything, you are unlovable, you are selfish, you just want attention, you are ugly, you have no self control, why can’t you be like “them.”  You are a bad person.

~Marla

This Old House

After months of sprucing up, it is ready. Our house goes on the market next week. When we first moved here 11 years ago, it was out of necessity, not desire. We were content in the quad level we called home. We had lived there for 8 years, our children's elementary years were spent in the house with the beautiful sunroom, nice deck, and a yard big enough to play soccer in. The soaring vaulted ceiling in the sunroom had held huge hand chopped Christmas trees, and multiple party's had been held there. It was hard to leave that house with so many good memories inside.

Our move was short, less than one mile away. The house was large and rambling compared to our compact quad. A ranch style home with a finished basement sitting on a quiet cul-de-sac. Our belongings could not begin to fill the home...but we were not moving alone. My mother was coming to live with us, and that was the reason for the move. We needed a larger home, and a ranch style instead of a quad with multiple levels. We were looking for a house with two living areas on the main level, and it was the only house for sale in our town that fit that criteria.

The house needed some TLC, but was certainly large enough. My mother had her own areas, and that was important. She had her own living room, the master bedroom and bath, and even a guest room. Because the home was so large we still had our own living area, bedroom and bath upstairs, as well as a full bath, bedroom, and family room in the basement. There was also a very large game room downstairs that became our sons bedroom. 

Mom did not stay with us long in the house before her health deteriorated further and she needed 24/7 assistance. The assisted living was only 3 blocks away, so visits were frequent and included visits from our dog. Mom loved to show her off to the other residents, putting her through her repertoire of tricks, the favorite being the command "Bang", to which she would promptly fall to her back.

Somehow over the years, we managed to keep the house full, even as our children grew up and moved out. My most precious memories are in this house. Memories of my children decked out for prom. My son celebrating his high school football career at a surprise party in his honor. My daughter and her new husband opening wedding gifts with both families gathered round. My mother making soup at the stove.

 This old house has been very special to us, and as we prepare to let it go...I say...thanks for the memories old friend.


~Marla