Breakfast at Tiffamy's

Here I sit on a rainy Sunday, comfortable with myself.  It's an odd feeling, to be content in one's own skin.  I don't feel like climbing the walls, nor do I feel like climbing into bed to sleep the day away.  I realized, as I was singing to music (sorry, neighbors), sipping coffee, and staring out the window at the clouds, that it's okay to do nothing once in a while.  Originally, I wanted to take a bike ride to another town and maybe break out my camera, but Mother Nature said otherwise.  It wasn't part of her plan.

And I'm a guy who needs a plan.  Everything has to be in perfect order and those elements must be prompt.  As such, my plans never work as I envision.  Never ever.  When they don't, which is always, I assume a mental fetal position and whine to myself that life isn't fair.  I very often feel like the world has collaborated to 'move my cheese'.  But, with the help of my professional entourage, efforts are being made to change my obsessive need for planning.  When my therapist wants to go hiking, she goes hiking rain or shine.  When she wants to zipline, she does.  When she feels like sitting on the couch, watching movies for a good cry while eating popcorn, she allows it.  She has no definitive plans because life changes in the blink of an eye.

My plans changed for the better on Friday morning.  I received a text message at 7:14am from my sister inviting me to breakfast and, rather than decline because I was groggy and it was unexpected, I said Yes.  It's been a pleasure hanging out with her lately because we haven't gotten along in roughly thirty years.  Around the time our step-father came into our lives, we began picking on each other mercilessly.  Granted, most of the picking was initiated by me and I think a lot of it stemmed from misdirected anger.  Since we couldn't fight back when our step-father was screaming at us or slapping us, we did what most people would do - take it out on someone our own size (or close).  Unfortunately, this continued throughout the years.  Nothing my sister said or did was right in my eyes and I would jump down her throat every chance I got.  I was right and she was wrong.  Most of the time, I didn't realize that I was even doing it, very similarly to how our dad acted when we were younger.  And this all culminated two months ago when she finally told me that she loved me, but that she's never liked me.  Hurtful, yet deserved.

So why the change?  We've worked to throw a cookout, hung out for hours on a Friday night, and now we're having breakfast with each other.  What gives??  I brought up that I felt like people have been treating me differently since I returned from the hospital.  It feels like the diagnosis has spawned empathy.  But my sister corrected me.  She explained that I'm being treated differently because *I* am treating others differently.  She said that she can breathe around me, finally... as if she had to hold her breath because she never knew when I was going to snap. 

When a person changes, they are often the last to recognize it.  I'm happy to hear that I seem more relaxed and at ease because I don't necessarily see it.  I do feel more 'even'.  It feels like I can breathe more freely, too.  Hopefully, this is the start of many mended relationships.  For years, I've wanted a sibling that I could be close to and it stings a little to know that, although I wanted to be close to my sister, I pushed her away.  So, here's to many more breakfast invitations.

Enough of that.  Entering my man cave again...

Excuses, Excuses

"You don't know what you don't know."  I generally hate this statement.  I think it's equal to "It is what it is", if not more despicable, but they're both perfectly true.  The latter statement doesn't tell you if "It" is good or if "It" completely, abhorrently sucks.  "It" just is.  And you can't argue with "It".

The first statement has been on my mind since I wrote my last entry.  "You don't know what you don't know."  To me, the quote says, in some circumstances, that ignorance truly is an excuse.  Being valid, it should relieve some of the guilt that I've felt for things deeply ensconced in my past.  I still have problems forgiving myself for things that happened years ago and some of those things weren't even my fault.  For example, I didn't know that my ex-wife was going to have a near total fucking mental breakdown and make a decision to leave me before our first anniversary, yet I blame myself for not being more aware (maybe?) and trying to make it work.  I suppose my abandonment issues fired up and I held on far too long.  Not knowing this would be the result, I shouldn't place so much blame on my shoulders.  I guess I didn't know how to cope.

This is especially true when I think of my drinking.  Every time I raised a bottle, I created problems for myself and others, whether they be family, friends or coworkers.  As much as it's been told to me that drinking is a choice, it hasn't been mine.  I never chose to drink so hard that I missed work or appointments.  I never drank on Monday to wake up Wednesday thinking, "Hey, where did Tuesday go?"  And I would never drink to put those closest to me in danger, emotionally or physically.  I didn't know these would be the outcomes.  However, the fact remains that I did drink to that extent and those things happened (and more).

I had a conversation with family a few nights ago regarding some of my feelings on being diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  I'm having a hard time accepting it for a number of reasons, not the least is that accepting it would feel like I'm excusing my actions over the past decade and more.  "Oh, remember that time I took a swing at dad?  Well, I'm bipolar, so it's not my fault.  And all those times I'd disappear for weeks, bouncing from motel to motel, not answering my phone?  Sorry, bipolar!"  I've already hurt people enough and I don't want to hurt them more by making it seem like I'm brushing away my actions with a diagnosis.

Because I was being open about this, my family raised an interesting point - this diagnosis is a reason, not an excuse.  Webster defines each as:

Reason: 1c - a sufficient ground of explanation or of logical defense;

Excuse: 2a - something offered as justification or as ground for being; OR 2b - an expression of regret for failure to do something.

They're pretty close in meaning and the two can be interchanged.  However, Reason is concrete and grounded in fact.  Excuse, the way it is often used, is an explanation having a connection to apology or forgiveness.  That's not what I want people to think.  While I am sorry for the things that have happened, I am not apologizing and waiving them.  Excuse would allow this, but Reason says, "It happened and this is why it happened.  Now take the consequences like a man."

That said, people seem to be accepting of bipolar as a reason versus alcoholism on its own.  All of those "get your head out of your ass" comments seem to sting a little bit more because of it.  I've been saying for a very long time that alcohol was just a symptom, but I didn't know what exactly was wrong.  Still, I'm welcome to this newfound reason.  It's as if someone finally gave me the roadmap that I started looking for twenty years ago.

Changing Seasons

Since I returned home, I've been doing a lot of analyzing, mostly of the last three years.  It's difficult because I don't want to relive it, but it's also helpful in identifying patterns of behavior and learning how to break these patterns when they start occurring again.  It's been ten years since I started drinking excessively, but the last three years that life has been extremely miserable.  I guess you could say I had seven bad years and three acutely bad years (i.e. three really, really, really, @#^! bad years).

What makes this process so difficult, and sad, are the nagging thoughts now stuck in my head.  I wish, more than anything in the world, that those years never happened.  I don't mean to imply that I want my friendships taken away or the special moments with my son to be forgotten.  For the sake of those who were caught within my funnel cloud, I wish I could take away the hurt feelings, anger and frustration.  It's not about relieving my own hurt or taking away my consequences for the things that happened.  I'd gladly keep those if it meant others would lose the memories of my actions.

I'm trying to reconcile the irritating idea that none of it had to take place.  It's like one of those annoying, under the skin itches that you just can't scratch and won't go away.  I've been seeing therapists and psychiatrists for years.  If ONE of these professionals had asked the right questions and treated me appropriately (rather than throw the latest drug du jour down my throat), then <poof>... a decade's worth of misery may have been saved.  Instead, I was putting something into me that made matters far worse.  I'm not trying to blame anyone, but it's also hard not to.  When a psychiatrist diagnoses you and the cardinal rule is to not prescribe an anti-depressant, but then prescribes one anyway... I don't know.  And I didn't know what questions to ask to prevent this, either.  I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that one small change could've had an incredible impact.  I voiced my above wish to my therapist - "I wish the last three years never happened."  She replied, "I do too," and we both sat silently for a minute.  It looked like we were both going to cry.  She's the only person who really listened to me, but her hands were tied.  She isn't a prescriber and couldn't do much except voice her concerns to my psychs.  She's blaming herself for not catching this sooner.  She doesn't realize that I wouldn't have made it out of this screwed up, bi-polar cave without her help.

Sure, there were some good times over the years, but they always seemed to be followed by a bout of drinking.  I said in the last post that drinking was related to the depression, yet this isn't true.  My drinking usually occurred after the best days - incredible days with my son, wonderful vacations, time with special friends.  They coincide with my 'up' cycles, when I have annoyingly high energy and an over-eagerness to get out and do.  This is how I felt last weekend.  By Sunday afternoon, I was so emotionally sensitive to the positive things that happened during the two days, I was willing to scream from my porch, "LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!!"  While this might be true, it was not characteristic of me, by far.  I had to rein my energy because of the danger that comes with it.  And that plain sucks.

Eh, I'm whining.  I know that I need to use my past as a tool to build a better future, but it's painful to think how easily the past could have been changed.  I don't want others to hurt because of me.  So, I'll try to work my ass off and the future will be brighter for it, hopefully.  These lyrics suddenly have a much deeper meaning...

"With all the changing seasons of my life, maybe I'll get it right next time."