Do you like that song? It’s by Rolling Stones, in case you haven’t heard it by now. Some to the right might think of it a little rough. I remember all the times, I felt as though, I self-destructed. When you’re in mania or suffering from Borderline, it feels like you’re out of control. I remember all the rage that was built inside of me. All the anger and the surging rage. Rage as though, you’ve never seen. When bad shit happens to you, you get scared and angry. And then you explode like a dynamite. Borderline probably more-so than Bipolar.
The Bipolar side is fun but when you mesh it together with Anxiety and Borderline anger… it’s a mess. You want to destroy everything and anything in your path. People are ducking and hiding. It seems funny, but it isn’t. Those moments in my youth, I wish I could take back. I was a holy terror from 16 to early 20’s. I allowed the darker side of me to take over. I witnessed a dramatic change. I wasn’t the same person anymore. I was this hideous and monstrous beast that did a ton of stupid things. That’s when I was hospitalized twice. I did participate in multiple different methods of self-harm. I cringe when I think of those times. I was a horrible person. Can we get a do-over? If I could take a magic wand and erase those times from ages 16-24, I would love that. All I can do now is hold myself accountable for my actions. Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to those, I hurt and made small.
Now I’m 36. I could laugh at some of the shit I did do. There’s a part of Rosalie’s existence that actually was a true story. All the immature things she did in the book, that actually did happen. And I didn’t realize I wrote it until after I wrote those books. I split myself up into three fictional characters. Rosalie is probably the character that is the closest to me. I didn’t realize all the anger until I re-read my books. Whoa… heavy shit! Ember will represent my depression more. Yeah, Rosalie’s story almost mirrors mine. Take out the dancing (I can’t dance to save my soul) and the other dramatic elements, she’s the closest character to my heart. Replace the foster parents with my parents. It amazes me that I wrote about it in a fictional setting. I put all my dreams into one book. And I found that I split my husband up in between a few characters. But you see him the most in my fictional character, Ian. The things that Ian says, were the things that my husband has said to me over the years. “Spike” and Rosalie’s story was actually how my husband and I were with each other. We hated each other at first. I thought he was an arrogant asshole. And my husband changed from an arrogant asshole into the most loving and compassionate person, I’ve ever known. He settles all my fears and demons. I didn’t realize that I put that much into “Spike.” Whoops! And yes, he defends my honor even today. He’s seen the real me and he knows my heart.
My husband often chuckles, when he reads my books. “I said that to you.” “Hmm… that sounds familiar.” “Oh… I did say that.” I didn’t realize I plugged a ton of him in there. As a writer, you just think “hey, I’m going to create these awesome characters!” So, yes, writers take advantage of their surroundings, people, politics, nightmares, dreams, and fantasies. It really is bearing your entire soul to the entire world. That to me is downright scary. But, my husband did save me from myself. If that makes any sense. I was on that path and he stopped me. He got me into therapy and turned me around. Sometimes, we do need people who still believe in us. I had nobody in my corner. I was fighting with all my family members. He is and was the first person, I gave my full trust to. It’s so hard for me to give up my trust and control. It’s nice! Not like control, like you can’t do this or that. More like, he controls the rage. He’s able to tame the monster and forces her to sit back in her corner, so I can live. He looks for certain facial expressions and he knows. He knows me better than I know myself. When I do have to go out, he will hold my hand and whisper to me. He will soothe me like a balm. It keeps my head level and straight. That type of control. He’ll snap me out of it. And he does it all in soothing, loving, and caring ways. He shuts that horrible monster down. If that makes any sense.
As for the reason why, I titled the post the way I did. My dad did apologize to me for everything he did to me, to us. I still get angry but not as angry as I used to be. It’s a subtle anger. Instead of a roar, it’s a purr. With Borderline, we tend to unleash the rage at anyone and everyone. But, when talking to him… I gave him forgiveness and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. There is a line in a Madonna’s song, “Oh, Father.” It goes like this, “somebody’s hurt you too.” And that line still sits in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The little girl inside of me stopped ducking and shaking in fear. She peeped out and smiled her little toothy grin. I missed her for so long. The memory of him carrying me from the garden to the house took over. He was an okay father for the first seven years of my life. Something inside of him snapped. He was a Vietnam Vet. Maybe Agent Orange did something to him. Instead of dealing with his emotional scars and the physical abuse he suffered as a small child, he dealt with it as a much older adult. It was like sometimes he would be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It became worse after I turned 7. Hyde revealed himself more. And the little girl went into permanent hiding for many years. She had her arms covered over her head and she hid in a corner. Sometimes a toothy child with blonde curls or the teenager with dark hair. The pissed off teenager. The rebellious teenager with a middle finger at everyone and authority figures.
Do you know the funniest thing? A news channel interviewed me many years ago about the whole Bill Clinton scandal in the 90’s. I was in full-blown mania and I hope they scratched that interview. It was bad! I don’t remember what I said! I hope they didn’t air it! I’m scared to see it. And what’s worse? The tied-dyed outfit I wore that day. Oh… yes! I went through my hippy thing too! With a big tied-dyed marijuana leaf on the front of it. That was back in 98. OMG! I think I cracked a bad joke at the time. Surely, they never aired it! I had on a pot necklace and a pot ring. You could tell, I was out of my fucking mind. I hope I gave them a fake name. I probably did. It was the 90’s. I did a lot of crazy shit back then.
Anyway, sometimes you have to forgive the devil. The scary beast that gave you nightmares for years. I hate abusers more than anything. But a tiny fraction of me, feels sympathy for them. For they didn’t get the help they needed. Someone caused them to be that evil. Something broke them. Hopefully for them, they realize it and receive intense therapy. “I’m verbally abusive.” Stop it then! Get help! If therapy can turn this monster into a kitten, I’m sure it could help you. Your tears only get you so far. After you hit them so many times, they get up and fight back. I tend to read a lot of books with strong women. I know why I’m drawn to them. They have the ability to say no and fight back. I often dreamed of being like Xena or She-Ra. I thought it was cool how Xena wielded that sword. So, when I’m scared, I think of the most powerful woman in the entire fictional world. That keeps me strong. I try to shift my night terrors into Xena or She-Ra. Those night terrors make some pretty awesome battle scenes for my novels. No matter what pain I’m going through (physical/mental), I think of them. And I try to morph my fictional woman lead characters into them. Make them seem fragile, but inside… they’re always one step ahead of everyone.
So, yes… sympathy for the devil. Still a cool song after all these years.