manic day

Today, all afternoon, I rode the high as far as it would take me and it felt good. I spent the day with my father, and I gave him the precious gift of my time.

For so long during my bulimia he was the source of my triggers, my anxiety, and my bipolarity. He never went unpunished in my head. God knows what happened, but I distinctly recall the day I raged - screaming incessantly about my ED 'why couldn't he believe that I was sick, why couldn't he understand that everything he did hurt me, why couldn't he help me!' and I shoved and punched and eventually he pinned my hands and restrained me. I was humiliated, but still filled with righteous anger and I kicked and wailed. I couldn't rationally explain why I was behaving that way; every motion seemed instinctual; that made me even more enraged. He brusquely told me to "Grow up. Stop acting like a child." That upset me even more. At that point, all I wanted to do was open the door and run as far as I could, and as soon as I feigned calm and he released me, I ran outside. I vomited and slept on the dewy grass. He was worried and frantic, but I really didn't give a damn. I felt locked inside my own world and my own decisions. I was hurt and reluctant to show my face. I thought it would prove I was culpable. That day has been erased from my fathers memory, just like my ED, but for me it remains a constant reminder to never argue with my father; lesson learned. The thought of any confrontation with him makes me sick to my stomach, still.

Today though, was a manic day - no medication- the day that I felt like treating my father, and the only time I felt comfortable in his presence. He feeds my mania, he loves my mania; I'm fun and agreeable and devious. He enjoys talking to that person, not the depressed-wasted-waif. The happy, happy, happy, go, go, go girl is the one his loves; no me. All that does is make me want my full-time bulimia back, because that is the person he knows and can love without tip toeing around my "issues" that I'll "grow out of."

He took me to a used book shop Downtown, and I was hooked. He bought me 33 dollars worth of books. "Picture Perfect and Second Glance" by Jodi Picoult and the first 3 books of the "Mercy Thompson series" by Patricia Briggs. I was high on life baby, and it was rapturous. I had no control over it. But, I do feel a little hope that now my relationship with my father can be repaired. It won't be an easily bandaged wound, but I think we can accomplish a semblance of what we used to have - when I was a kid. I hope.