Bipolar Mum Journey

If you’ve ever been the family “black sheep” you probably learned quickly that this role often comes with a sharper eye for the truth. It’s a strange position, being the one who sees through facades and recognises the reality behind closed doors. When you see those perfect family photos online, remember that appearances rarely tell the whole story, everyone’s hiding something.

To anyone related who doesn’t like what they read or hear in my story, my answer is simple: if you’d treated me better, maybe you wouldn’t be worried about what I have to say. My journey hasn’t been easy. As you know my parents left me when I was a baby, and at 13 years old, I was wrongly blamed for my father’s death, simply for telling him I was hurt by his actions on a phone call around my 11th birthday. The pain started even earlier. On one occasion at age eight, my father showed up drunk at a friend’s house, demanding to see me, causing such a scene that my friend’s mother threatened to call the police. This was one of many occasions so, no I won’t feed into the facade that he was a good father. Forgive me, I was told at 13 he died from a cocktail of prescription drugs and heroin. However, now it has come to light that it was only heroin and alcohol. I didn’t realise it was any “classier”.

Anyway, here I am. I’ve made it through, raising three wonderful kids, having never suffered with addiction. The only thing I seem to have inherited is a mental illness that I wouldn’t mind getting a refund on, if that were possible. I do still care about my parents, and I don’t hold onto bitterness, even though they left me with more scars than support. If my life story gains attention someday, maybe it can help me build a better future for my children. After all they’ve lived through with a mother navigating bipolar disorder and losing all three grandparents, they deserve more stability and opportunity than I ever had.