A la chica que usa su enfermedad mental como excusa para ser una gilipollas
El problema no es que seas bipolar. El problema es que utilizas tu enfermedad como excusa para justificar tu mal comportamiento. I’m not insinuating that you don’t have a legit diagnosis, and I’m also not trying to say that you can control your behavior. I know that you can’t.
What you could do is be proactive in your own self-care. What you could do is try to learn strategies that will help YOU to function better in your day-to-day life so that your own behavior isn’t your biggest barrier. I mean, aside from the fact that I can’t talk to you about anything real, and you cut me out of your life and the lives of your children without so much as a second thought, your demons don’t hurt me the way they do you.
Como amiga tuya quiero lo mejor para ti, y como persona con experiencia en tratar problemas de salud mental, sé que hay más opciones para ti de las que te planteas.
Sabiendo que esta falta de voluntad/incapacidad para ayudarte a ti mismo es en realidad un síntoma del mismo problema para el que quiero que consigas ayuda, me he ofrecido a ayudarte. Me he ofrecido a hacer el trabajo preliminar, a llamar por teléfono, a acompañarte a las citas. I even offered to go with you to the hospital and sit in the emergency department for two days so you could have your meds monitored and adjusted when your ‘idiot doctor’ had the nerve to leave you in his waiting room for too long, and you left the office in a huff without getting the prescription that you needed to function. And then I listened to you complain three months later when you still hadn’t resolved the issue on your own.
You have a diagnosis and you think that’s enough, but it’s not. Your meds clearly help to some degree, but they aren’t going to teach you the skills you need to maintain your interpersonal relationships.
Si en algún momento quieres bajarte de la montaña rusa que es tu vida, tendrás que realmente enfréntate a ti mismo. You create chaos because that’s what you need to feel grounded, and you refuse to get actual help because you don’t want to do the work that helping yourself will entail. It’s hard and when things get hard you would rather walk away than problem solve. I’ve seen you do it over and over in your life; you want to take the easy way out and it leads to more work for yourself.
Okay, fine, whatever. Keep half-assing it. It’s not for me to judge your life choices, and I’m not. The problem is that I can’t tiptoe around you on these eggshells anymore. If I thought there was an end in sight, maybe. But, unfortunately, I’ve come to realize that until you get real help and change your patterns, we are always going to end up at this place where you see me as the enemy. Te enfadas conmigo por saber que podrías tener una mejor calidad de vida, y te enfadas aún más cuando intento ayudarte a conseguirlo cuando empiezas a caer en una espiral descontrolada. I don’t know what to do with that anymore.
What you don’t realize while you’re busy being mad at me for giving a fuck is that you’re breaking my heart over and over again. You’re making me question my sanity. You’re separating me from your children whom I love dearly and have tried and succeeded to make meaningful relationships with, and every time you cut me off they feel abandoned by me, while I miss them and all of their important milestones until you decide I’m not the worst again.
It’s not just you in this and all the time that you’re not actually dealing with or managing your illness, my place in your life is precarious, and no matter how many ways I try to tell myself, “It’s not her, it’s her illness,” it comes back to the fact that, mientras no te enfrentes a tu diagnóstico, tú eres tu enfermedad, y tu enfermedad es un poco gilipollas para mí.
by Tia Grace
