Where do I begin? I was not a good mother. If it were not for the day care workers and grandparents my children would have had no 'rearing,' as they say. Breakfast was fast food in the car seat as I drove recklessly to the daycare then on to work. I often left the children in their pajamas with a bag of clothes for the day. Thankfully, I had a good salary. However, rather than prepare nice meals, I made macaroni and cheese out of a box. I made up the difference with expensive toys and books.
The worst part was the anger and withdrawal...just wanting to be left alone to paint or write or work in the darkroom. The children were understandably shaken by this. It breaks my heart to think of those sweet children, frightened and alone. I was incorrectly diagnosed then and, therefore, not properly medicated. Prozac is not for bipolar people.
The children are fine now. I was fortunate to have health insurance to pay for therapy for them in their teen years. As young adults, one has struggled with mood issues of his own but they both are brilliant young adults, have jobs and social lives, and don't seem to be too angry with me. They see the difference now that I am properly medicated and understand.
So what do I do with the guilt? I write about it. I write about the bipolar disorder. I live medicated and stable and, hopefully, demonstrate a life well-managed. And I try to be kind.
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I think manic-depressive types have an advantage here. Artists tend to use their life experience as raw material for their art*, and having experienced highs that are insanely high, far higher than most people do, and lows that plumb depths to match-- that and a whole spectrum in between-- leaves us with a richer palette to paint (or write) with.
ReplyDeleteTaking the pain or loss or just the wacky hi-jinx and making something of it (stories or poems or painting or songs or ...) seems like taking the silver lining (of the guilt or whatnot) and crafting something useful out of it.
(* TvTropes names this 'Muse Abuse', and quotes Neil Gaiman: "As for my take on Shakespeare, I'm basing a lot of it on what I personally find scary about being a storyteller. When something terrible is happening, 99 percent of you is feeling terrible, but 1 percent is standing off to the side - like a little cartoon devil on our shoulder - and saying, "I can use this. Let's see, I'm so upset that I'm actually crying. Are my eyes just tearing, or are they stinging? Yes, they're stinging, and I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. How do they feel? Hot. Good, what else?" That's the kind of disconnectedness I wanted to explore."