I am guilty of continually wishing I had a mother, while entirely disregarding the one that I have.
Do I forgive her for all her indiscretions and her never being a mother, in order to find some sense of a mother now. Or do I continue to remind her that she failed at least one of her children?
I am forgiving. I am understanding. But overlooking someone knowingly destroying themselves, knowingly disregarding their own wellbeing; I don’t know if I’m capable of overlooking her untreated mallidies in order to have a mother who only ever want me in spirit. I was supposed to be her’s and therefore she obsesses over what she assumes I am or hope to be. Yet I’ve never given her a moment in my adulthood to understand me.
Should I? Do I truly even wish for that? She is a product of her upbringing and her surroundings, I however cannot except mental illness as an excuse. Not when there are options, not when acknowledging one’s issues should lead to one bettering themselves. Instead she chooses to wear a blanket of her illnesses, with everyone’s excuse of her being “ill,” but her particular illness is a choice.
But do I forgive and overlook in order to have some few years left with her, or do I live on with hate in my heart, long after she’s gone and with no hope of recompens?
The Quarter-life crisis is upon me.
I thought that I had already come to grips with that, found myself and my happiness, and began taking a more dominate role in accomishing the acquisition of said happiness.
Apparently I was wrong.
I’m six months in and now I’m facing a whole new slew of questions and paths.
Are my friends holding me back?
Of course I want to say that they aren’t. That we’re amazing, supportive, and fun. But the truth is, they’re often pushy, forward, forgetful, and disrespectful.
Of course they are, they’re a group comprised of mostly of guys.
But sometimes, somewhere between them seeing me as their mother and their desire to see me nude, they cease actually having my best interests at heart.
I find myself not interested in relationships, even carnal ones, because they sabotage me in little ways. Granted, they wouldn’t be able to do that, if I didn’t make questionable decisions. But they often judge solely on one occurrence or another, and not based on the whole.
I have worked for my accomplishments, but not nearly hard enough. I am no where near where I saw myself being, years ago. Yet I surround myself with people who feel as if working at all is an accomplishment. I cannot judge my accomplishments based on those of others. Other people will always have different lives and therefore different accomplishments.
I can not hold myself back nor belittle my own achievements.
Incredibly moving and thought provoking article on what I can only imagine to be the most difficult moment in any women’s life. Though I have never walked in those shoes, this brought tears to my eyes and made me take a very deep look inside myself and inside the women I know who have eendured this. The trauma they must go through, the loneliness, and the judgements placed upon them by those they feel most close to.
oh my god today at walmart there was a notebook that said
wait i found a pic of it online
what the fuck it was like ok cute but then suddenly christianity
then suddenly christianity
that pretty much sums up world history
And then I read a post on never allowing someone with a psychiatric disorder to stop taking their meds. Well how about if they’re under 18, or if they’ve been mediated most of their life?
Psychiatric medicine has only been practiced for maybe sixty years, prior to that, very little was known on the subject. Its only been in the last ten to fifteen years that they’ve even begun to warn parents that these drugs cause suicidal thoughts and can exacerbate depression.
I am disgusted by the number of people who are prescribed antipsycotics. I do understand whole heartedly that some people do require these medications and many find a lot of help with them, but the cast majority should not require these. In retail pharmacy I saw hundreds of patients a day prescribed a medication cocktail comprised mostly of medications that they themselves didn’t require but the doctor prescribed anyways in order to narrow down the patients’ psychological problem.
I don’t feel that this is an adequate way of practicing medicine. Its not a guessing game or a ruling out of what a persons’ problems are. Instead it should be largely based on support, understanding, acceptance, and if needed; then medication. These people are sad, deranged, lost, and trapped within themselves, supplying them with medications that further seperate them from society isn’t solving the problem. Instead of seeking help and receiving false promises that these drugs will somehow magically create or repair synopsis, they should receive a support system comprised of individuals who truly care for them and want to see them better themselves and their own lives.
I hate psychiatric medicine, and because of that I feel great passion towards changing the way it is currently practiced. I have spent years researching from a practical stand point, I was raised in early childhood beside a none mediated scitzophrenic with manic depression, I have worked to supply thousands of people with these assumed wonder drugs. I want to be the change I believe this field needs.
I get so tired of people having the wrong impression of me. I’m really not nearly as bad as I’m given credit for. I can be very sweet, I am one of the most compassionate people you could know. I’m very honest and very genuine. I dot like to hurt people in any compasity and I suppose that gets me into trouble.
My friends know what a good person I am and my ex’s can attest to how loving, sweet, and unforgettable I can be. Though I have walked a number of dark corridors in my life, I have managed to retain a light and carefree spirit. I am intelligent, well spoken, and goal oriented. And anyone who calls themselves my friend is lucky to do so. am
I’ve come to learn a lot this year, I think taking some time away from the group and coming back was one of the best things I could have done. But I still often feel like the butt of jokes, the odd man out, if we were the wolfpack I would be Alan.
Its never been said so much as portrayed that way. I love the guys like brothers and sometimes wish I weren’t just another brother. I have a hard time finding the middle ground with groups of guys, you’re either the group pogo or one of the guys and I’ve spent my whole life in one classification or the other.
It sucks having it assumed that I have no emotions, i’m counted on, cared about, and respected; in my opinion more respected than most of the other girls not actually dating a group member.
I’m jealous. I’m frustrated, I keep hearing where my place is in the group and hearing what everyone thinks of me lately and though none has been bad, its all left an ashy taste on the tongue. Everyone says I need to make new or more friends, and I work on it but then alcohol takes over and I become a different person. I cease to care what anyone thinks and I just wrap myself in armor of indifference.
I boast about my awful past because it makes it easier to forget, somehow telling the stories make them feel more and more like just stories. I hate when people ask why or how I did the things I’ve done because I can’t answer the question. The reasons weren’t enough for people to understand. I wanted to show someone important to me that I could be monogamous, I could stay with someone through the shit and make things work. Unfortunately I always seem to pick the worst candidates to pursue. Which only furthers the opinion that i’m a bit on the fucked up side.
I just want to be seen by others as a see myself, hardworking, dedicated, selfless, loving, beautiful, intelligent, and successful. I don’t want any of my accomplishments to be disregarded, people don’t have to understand my struggle, I would just like it if they realized that there had been a struggle in the first place.