I will admit that although I’ve lived with a Bipolar father my entire life, that I don’t know anything. A manic or somewhat elevated mood can set a fire under their ass like I’ve never seen. If they do not get help right away when the symptoms are there, you might as well write a $100,000.00 check and hand it to someone you despise. You might as well smoke and run at the same time. You might as well shave your head and go into a salon and ask for a cut and color. You’ve pretty much lost your control because they are winning and you are beneath the intellect they believe they have above you.
I think we are on night two now. I’m lost in regards to time. The first night we had no sleep. I was reprimanded by my father’s psychiatrist for allowing this to happen. Uh, how do I not allow a 68 year old six foot-ish man to stay up??? Someone, hello, anyone out there?
I did better last night. We slept, kind of. It came in spurts, but that’s better than not at all. I explained to my father that Sprite made more sense than coffee because I need him to let me sleep. He agreed that I needed sleep, but he doesn’t. He said he’d try his hardest so I could have some rest. I explained to my father that he needed to relax and stop worrying about how he was going to build me the grandest front porch the WORLD has ever seen because I don’t want a porch. “Well” he said, ” that’s your business I guess.”
I can’t even begin to explain how frustrating it is to start your day off with your Bipolar father telling you at 5:00 a.m., how he’s figured out that he should ask the neighbor if he can buy his pulling trailer. We need one for the lumber for the front porch.
It has been an interesting day to say the least and my husband is not feeling well at all. My father asked if he could mow our yard. I decided to say yes because it would help. It’s needed. I need help. My father needs a purpose.
I sat on the steps outside and watched him with the most intense look on his face. He never even noticed I was sitting there. I’ve never heard so many scrapes against my patio, my Morton building and then the rocks… I must have been hit right in the face at least ten times with flying rocks and dirt.
When he finished I told him thank you. He cried. He said, “Sugar, it’s not an even trade, but I’m so happy I can help you.”
Human beings need a purpose.