Formative Years

Candice inspired me to write a blog about my childhood since she has delved so deep in hers. There will be a prequel to this later that explaines how I was treated as a child despite my Moms illness, but this particular blog will focus on growing up with her illness. She always wanted to help people. So much to the fact that I think she lost her footing with me somewhere along the way. When I was very young she worked with people who had a learning disability and/or Mental Retardation. I remember going to a friend of hers house (who was also my former Kindergarten teacher) that home schooled these kids. We would takethem on outings, and the only one I really remember was the skating rink. I learned a passion for helping those less fortunate very early on. My Mom was sick my whole life. She suffers with, to this day Manic Depression and Bipolar Disorder. I have never seen her go down only up up and away. My Dad used to tell me that he would come home from work and her and I would be watching the television with the television off. So basically watching imaginary television. Now I have a hard time differentitating if this is something she was doing because of her ilness or something she was doing as a way of her building my imagination. I mean, I do see her and Sofia watching tv without it being on as well from time to time and I dont blamb it on her being ill as much as Mom trying to build Sofia's imagination. She does all types of things that help Sofia build her imagination and I thank her for that. It is helping my little girl grow and branch out and it is increasing her intelligence. Now there are things she did that YES were off. I remember seeing them. OFTEN. Crying when my Dad had to go to work, like literally sitting in the front yard on the concrete crying and begging him not to go. I remember my Grandparents having to come over and get her and take her to the hospital while I was at school. So then I would come home to an empty house of Mom but a full house of Dad and Grandparents trying to sugarcoat what had just happened. I would go see her in the hospital and she would either be in her room crying and not get out of bed or she would walk around and talk to everyone and make friends with all the kids that needed help. She always thought she could provide that help to them even in her darkest hour and made it her mission to do so. I don't know, maybe if she focused on their mishaps she would help her feel more in control of her illness. When she got out of the hospital one of the last times before her and my Dad's divorce she found a new group of people that she thought needed her help. Young teenagers who did not get along well with their parents. She ran across one of these teens and this particular teen had other friends in need and we must have had five or six of them living with us at one time.

TBC....maybe