Swelltide.

Likely this will be a long and rambling post, for which I apologize in advance for those who continue to read.

I am still off my medication. I still have not found a new psychiatrist. I still have not put in the effort to meet with a new doctor, to discuss cheaper medication. I am still off of my meds. This seems to be the best way to start, to frame how I've been feeling or thinking lately. Maybe manic. Maybe depressed.

My sister arrived for a few days to visit with my parents-- and to announce her pregnancy. My mother seemed usually ecstatic (concerning any news that involves my sister). The guilt I have now... My immediate reaction aside from envy, was the thought that I cannot remember the kind of reaction from my parents when my brother announced that him and his girlfriend were pregnant-- five years ago. My mother standing beside my sister, glowing. Her dear daughter, pregnant... I was baffled, happy for my sister, and equally furious.

There exists no concern about my well-being, or my brother's. There has not been any discussion about my mental state beyond that initial conversation that I had with mom about being diagnosed with bipolar, beyond  a few passing remarks about how I 'seem' so much more 'stable' now. How difficult it is not to take such remarks as a kind of insult. She does not know, of course, that I haven't been taking my medication.

My mother, who was sexually abused as a girl, never seeking professional help. Knowing her, she thinks that this is a kind of testament to inner strength. Getting through life with all this baggage, on her own... I think it is kind of pathetic. She looks down on me, I think for having gone to counseling. She looks down on me for actually trying to deal with the issues and hang-ups that I have.

She made a remark, while we went out for lunch a few days ago, about a cousin of mine who once went on a national TV show for being promiscious. "A girl sexually active at such a young age, it is a sign of sexual abuse." I asked her who in the family... "I don't want to get into it." Why? What a white-trashy, southern thing to do. We must keep quiet about those things. We must never talk about those things.

Whatever. I am not like my parents. At all. I want to think about everything. I don't think there are things within a family you should not talk about. And, that is the ironic thing. My mom is fine discussing other people's problems. Never her own.

My brother shows up to the house today, probably stoned. It was a lunch organized for his birthday. My mom had some things to say about it. My sister had some things to say about it. His 'drug' use seems to confuse them.

One of these days, I will remind my mother that while she was ever vigilant in my sister's affairs, growing up she could care less about what my brother and I did, so long as it didn't involve court or the police. I will remind her that my brother's real father never has expressed interest in him. Never sends so much as a birthday card. My brother, who has been described as 'willful' wasn't interested in school until you suddenly decided, when he was seventeen that it was unacceptable that he didn't care if he graduated from high school. Never mind that you could care less the other sixteen years.

God! The anger. The resentment. The pity that I feel for my parents. Living here, so close to them is a mistake. Something that I need to think about....