Bipolar Mum Journey

So, I wasn’t planning on drinking this Christmas, but here we are, I’ve been going at it since Wednesday. I feel great for now, but the aftermath? Oh, that’s the fucker, especially when you’re juggling drinking with bipolar. It’s alright when there’s another drink on the horizon. I get how that slippery slope forms for some people though.

I was out Christmas shopping, having one of those reflective moments: “Ah yes, it’s this time of year again, my parents are dead, I’m mental, ding, dang fucking do.” Honestly, Christmas as a kid wasn’t the worst. The family dynamics were tragic, sure, but I just cracked on. When I got older, I started working through it, less misery that way.

But recently? Oh, mate, the misery’s hit me with a vengeance. I think I’m lonely. I love my kids, and we always have a laugh, but being away from northern culture really cuts deep, southern people just don’t get me. You can’t put a price on being in a room of working class northerners. I miss it so much. Yeah, my mum and dad were “addicts,” but Christ almighty, they were hilarious.

Take my stepdad. If he didn’t have some big hustle planned, he’d be out skip-diving behind M&S (just for a kick), coming home with armfuls of food even though my nan had already splashed out on the Christmas shop. It was an addiction for him; he always had to be on the rob. One year, he robbed an off-licence but didn’t have a balaclava, so he cut eye holes in a beanie. Trouble was, one eye hole was a bit wonky. He looked absolutely ridiculous, a bell whacker in fact but hey, it did the job. He cleaned the place out and had me selling the nicked cigs. Sounds grim, but that was just life for us kids.

Another Christmas they put me on pub watch in my local area. I tried to walk into ‘The Swan’ and the owner said “No chance, you’re on pub watch. Your face is on the wall” I asked why as I genuinely didn’t know and apparently I’d bottled two guys in a pub on the market place. It was news to me, at least they didn’t get me nicked I suppose. I was a little fucker back then and I’m not making excuses but after you’ve had your innocence robbed you just think what’s the point. You end up unleashing all that built up trauma on society. 

I do miss the chaos, the constant buzz of something happening. How do you even get over that? These days, when I’ve had a drink, I feel it bubbling back up the old me, just wanting to go wild. People out here think they’re bad, but nah, they’ve got no idea. I’d love to tell them, but what’s the point? They wouldn’t get it. 

And oh, my days don’t even get me started on people out here brown nosing. Beggy little try-hards with their tongues so far up certain peoples’ arses, they could wear them as a hat. Meanwhile, they haven’t got a fucking clue about how bad life can get. 

Anyway, that’s my moany, sweary, boozy Christmas blog for you. Over and out! Have a cracking Christmas, everyone!