How Do You Make a Cast for a Broken Heart?

photo credit by bored-now on flickr

Beloved

I shattered your heart;

red shards stick out of your shirt -

proof of betrayal.

Gathering your blood

off this floor of filth I've made,

I beg Love to cleanse.

The Horrible Month Saga continues: (Go to sidebar for full story so far)

Day 12
8.28.03


Bowser is here right now and we’re still avoiding each other. I’m afraid that we are growing apart. I’ve accepted that I have a serious mental illness and because of it I have ostracized my family and damn near killed myself. I’ve accepted that; I’m learning from it and I’ve developed a clearer plan for the future – a plan with full recovery in it, a plan that clears out the baggage and makes room for light, joy, and warmth to fill every day; a plan that gives me good tools to pass down to my son.


Bowser is so pissed off. When we talked last night about the appointment with Dr. Mean Old Lady, he spent half of our conversation berating me. He tells me that I am self-centered, that everything revolves around me, and if it doesn’t, I make it do so. It’s always my headaches, my problems, my throat hurts (well, 3 rounds of strep throat in 2 months does make one’s throat hurt), my depression, my niggles… me, me, me, me, me. And, by the way, it is always about me. When I talk about wanting to see Luigi, I’m making it about me and MY need to see him. I tell Bowser that Dr. Mean Old Lady would like him to come to our next appointment and I’m expecting everyone to drop everything and come running because I have an appointment. I tried to commit suicide because I needed attention and I sabotage the world. All I do is complain that so-and-so pissed me off, and I’m sick, and I’m tired, and I dare to have feelings. Me. Me. Me. Me. It’s always about Me.


What about all those times I’ve made him soup because he was sick, hugged him when he was sad and mad at the world, dropped everything to help him find the resolve to get back on the wagon and figure out why he fell off in the first place. What about all the times I picked up his slack while he went on business trips (during which he acted out way more than once), went to sporting events, went golfing, and studied for his Master’s? Yet, my bi-monthly sojourns out with my girlfriends are treated as a complete hardship for him and he frequently calls me to come home early because he can’t handle Luigi by himself for three hours if the little dude has a cold or is teething.


What about all the times I listened to his mother make the same complaints over and again about Candie, Jenn, and Francine? What about her ongoing bitching about the studio, about her husband’s difficulty in finding a job? All the times I’ve called and invited her and his dad to come out with Luigi and me when we did fun things so they could be a part of his joy? What about all the fucking times I spent organizing quality time with Luigi so that even when we lived an hour and a half apart they saw him at least once a week? What about all of the dinners I’ve made them to celebrate special events, the Spring Chicken Soup I made from scratch for Bowser’s sister when she was sick, the white apology flag I always extended first on “our” behalf when Bowser got in arguments with his mom or sister? What about making 80 tiaras and countless costume alterations and Goddess knows how many friggin’ recitals I helped run without asking for anything in return? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT FAMILY DOES FOR EACH OTHER.


I never tallied their pros and cons (well, until now anyway). I never said, “Goddess, I do a lot for them, what have they done for me lately?!” It’s just what people who supposedly love each other do. We take care of what needs we can when they’re overwhelmed whether they need time, a sounding board, brainstorming, or an extra set of hands and feet to complete tasks they don’t have time to do on their own. That’s what I was taught and that’s how I try to live. I’m not perfect, but I do try to do the right thing right and follow the Golden Rule.


I HAVE been asking a lot of folks for these last two years, particularly this last year. I know that. I own my frailty and overwrought-ness. I know I have been sick and sad and needy ~ it’s been the depression’s largest thorn in everyone’s side and my neediness has been making me crazy, too. Yet, despite my horrible suicidal depression, I’ve given this family everything I could. This fucking passive-aggressive family!!! It is so unfair to just write me off like this, to take my son away from me, to discount all of the good things that I have brought to the kitchen table. They’ve been all sitting together passing judgment on me, creating artificial diagnoses about me with a self-righteousness that is disgusting beyond measure for the last year. THE LAST YEAR! Thanks so fucking much for all of the false support. No matter where this horrible month leads us, to a new end or a new beginning, I will never make the same mistake again and call these people my family. “Mom” and “Dad” my ass.


Bowser asked me about what Dr. Mean Old Lady thought about his family’s intuitive diagnosis that I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). So I told him that neither Dr. Mean Old Lady, nor our primary care physician think the diagnosis is applicable. Dr. Mean Old Lady is going to confer with the psychologist at Partial (I find out tomorrow if I get in) and decide at that point if I have BPD, Bipolar Disorder, or Major Depressive Disorder. I told him that my own research into BPD doesn’t match up either. The shoe just doesn’t fit. It might fit Cinderella, but I’m the Ugly Step-sister and the shoe isn’t fitting no matter how hard I try. Of course, he didn’t buy it because it’s not what he wants to hear. He wants to hear that I have BPD and am therefore hopelessly incurable so he can feel better about himself and his victim status.


He is punishing me for what I did and he wants me to think about it ~ about what price I should pay because I fucked him and his family over so royally.


I want to know a few things from him, which I’ll ask at our next confrontation:

• How much punishment does he think I deserve?
• Why didn’t he tell me he was so miserable before my psychotic break so that we  could try to work on our marriage with counseling perhaps?
• If, on the extremely off chance, I have BPD what good/bad would such a diagnosis prove to or mean for him?

I did ask him what he needed from me right now. His response:

• Space – because he’s still angry and doesn’t know when/if he will stop being angry.
• Time – to think.
• Personal boundaries – to not be pushed for answers.

Well, I’m already doing all of those things, so it won’t be hard to continue. All I can do is hope and plan for a better future for myself and straighten up and fly right.


I can hope that Bowser remembers the profound love we have had for each other over the years through the good times and the bad and the commitment of our marriage vows. I can hope that he remembers the sunny days in our relationship far outweigh the stormy ones. I can hope that this, too, shall pass and that we will be stronger for it.


I love him so much. I wish I had been able to express that better over the last few years, but I’ve lost that time and need to work on making my positive emotional actions speak loudly in the Here and Now. I will give and do anything to make this right and earn back his trust. His pain and anger and confusion are my entire fault. My past stupid psychotic choices are going to require some very smart, careful, and compassionate future choices if I have any chance at all to facilitate his healing process.