Bipolar Mum Journey

Grief is such a sadness man. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I lost my biological father when I was 13. He took a fatal overdose, and my grandmother found him. I can’t fathom what it must be like to find your own son dead. We weren’t on speaking terms when he passed, a fact that haunts me to this day. No one ever asked how I felt about losing my dad (until I was in a counselling session at 27). The day after the news, I went to school, and they sat me in a book cupboard with a Magic 8 Ball. I still don’t understand why they thought that was therapeutic lol.

A couple of years ago, my stepdad also took a fatal overdose. He had showered, shaved, put on his best outfit. My sister found him unresponsive on the sofa when she brought him a meal. She attempted CPR, but it was unsuccessful. Once again, we hadn’t been on speaking terms.

Eight months later, I woke up to 35 missed calls from my sister. I knew what it was about. When I called back, she answered, “Gemma, Mum’s dead.” I was in shock and responded somewhat nonchalantly. She, too, had taken a fatal overdose, leaving behind a series of self-loathing notes. Again we weren’t on speaking terms.

Living with the decision to walk away from my family is something I will carry with me forever. It will always haunt me. This is why my journey is so important. I want to break the stigma surrounding addiction and show the world the reasons behind it.