I ran into a former very close friend over the weekend.  It was at a place where I'm sure neither of us would expect to find the other.  Add to that the facts that I was wearing a wig and she appeared to be more than a bit tipsy.  We were 5 feet from each other for 15 minutes and she never recognized me.   I never approached her and while I'm glad I didn't follow my knee-jerk urge to approach her the moment I saw her, I wish I had talked to her at some point after I'd gathered my wits.  She is one of the friends who I've lost because of... well, I don't know how to word it.  I suppose, to be direct, it was because of H's crash-and-burn at age 4 and my handling of it.  We were very close.  Our kids were also very close - nearly daily contact.  When H fell apart and I fell apart as I tried to deal with him, she told me that she didn't want to be around us and she didn't want her kids to be around us.  She told me that I was the reason H was falling apart.  She basically told me that I was ruining him.  She was one of the first people to articulate this in no uncertain terms.  I've said it before and I'll say it again... "Bad" kids create "bad" moms in the same way that "bad" moms create "bad" kids.

It always been a struggle not to believe that my son is suffering from SMS - Shitty Mom Syndrome - no more, no less.  Conversations like this, along with the unspoken statements I see around me as if we're contagious, do a really good job cementing that belief.  It's so much easier to think that I'm the problem as opposed to my child having a serious, perhaps lifelong, disability.

I wanted to tell her that we have a diagnosis.  That he is so disabled that he has to be in a special school.  Most importantly, that despite the fact that *I* ruined H, I've somehow managed to spare my other two children.  I'd also loved to hear how her kids are doing because I'd love to know that they are doing well and my children would love to know as they ask about them.  If they are doing well, as they should be, statistically speaking, I'd love to tell her to be so glad for that.  I would told her that I was happy not only for her children but for her.  I would've told her I'm jealous because I'd love to be able say I have three typical kids.  I would've told her that I think if given one wish, I'd wish for what she has along the luxury of being able to be sure that "bad" kids were merely the result of "bad" moms.  As it is, thanks in part to feedback I get from others (the rest is a natural outgrowth of mommy guilt), I only think that some of the time and, unfortunately, in my situation it is self-directed as opposed to directed at anyone else.

Jumping in with both fucking feet. *gulp*

Okay.

I'm doing it.

I'm writing a blog.

I have literally six other blog titles reserved, keeping my options open but I've yet to write anything.  For years people have been telling me that I should be writing something, anything.  So here I am.  I don't even understand what people write about in blogs but I suppose the title of this blog might give you an idea of where I'm going with this.  I write too much for facebook.  I've had some (*ahem* rude) people comment that I am too long-winded on facebook.  I have had many, many more people tell me that they appreciate and enjoy my ramblings.  So I'm bringing it here.  I am a woman, a feminist, a  social liberal (I have no interest in official politics, though I'm liberal in thinking there, too - so sue me), a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a neighbor, a psychologist, a university professor, and a person diagnosed with bipolar disorder (and OCD, depending on who you ask).  I am also intensely passionate, driven, and stubborn.  If you get on my wrong side, so help you Universe.  I am smart and I am persistent and I will win.  I have opinions and while I try to bite my tongue because one of my worst fears is offending/alienating others, if you get me going, you will not hear the end of it.  And I will never, EVER argue my case without citing research.  This this what you can expect to hear about:

1. My kids being funny.
2. My kids being jerks.*
3. Maybe my husband being a regular human but I get annoyed with regular humans because I have crazy ideas of how things should be (like knives should not be left hanging over the sink even if you think you might be making another sandwich).   He is the very, very best husband and father in the world.  But he is not perfect.  And he's a fucking saint for putting up with me and our aforementioned children.
4. My struggles with bipolar disorder.
5. My struggles with motherhood.*
6. My struggles with everything.*

Some of these struggles end up reading as being very very funny and sometimes they are not unlike a horrific train wreck from which you cannot look away. See that?  Perfect grammar.  Total Grammar snob.  However, unlike many grammar snobs who say that bad grammar or spelling annoys them, it cracks me the hell up.  I especially "love" the inappropriate use of quotation marks.  That, and the misuse of the word "literal." (I also realize that I use sentence fragments, I start sentences with the word "and" too frequently, and I am very uncomfortable with how many commas I use but I have just decided to let that stuff go).  I also still use two spaces at the end of sentences and I don't care.  I'm keeping it that way.  I don't care if it makes me look old.  I am old.  Speaking of grammar and age... Book nerd here.  I read young adult, new adult, and erotica, sometimes verging on outright smutty porn.  My kindle looks like it belongs to a teenager leading a double life.  I am downright obsessed with a certain YA trilogy but since I have no tattoos, I'm very hesitant to lose that virginity at all, let alone with a text tattoo on my foot that says "she has no idea.  the effect she can have."   My husband has an adorable two-inch dolphin tattoo on his shoulder, you know, where an anchor or a set of pistols or something should go?  It's blue.  It's the cutest.  He got it at 18 and he thinks my getting this tattoo would be the worst idea ever, second only to getting a cute dolphin on my shoulder.  Oh, wait.  That might actually work on someone like me.

*I am honest to a fault.  Not in an insulting way but in such a way that it sometimes makes others uncomfortable mostly because I think it makes it harder for them to ignore the part of themselves that feels the same way.  It leaves me vulnerable and open to attack but I will not/ cannot change.  I am that person that says what others are thinking.  Yes, my kids can be total jerks.  I said it.  TOTAL jerks.  And I think about running away at times because of it (that combined with that pesky mood instability thing I have going on).  The thing is this; I think quite a few people feel this way and they feel like assholes because they think no one else does.  So I say it.  I get private messages on fb from people telling me that they appreciate hearing that they are not the only ones.  So I keep saying it.

That said, I hope this is anonymous.  I don't want my kids' classmates' parents to see this and hold it against my kids.  I don't want my parents to read it.  As much as I strongly believe in speaking out in order to decrease the stigma of mental illness, that stigma is still strong.  Frankly, I worry about losing my faculty position in the psychology department, of all places, because people are afraid of bipolar disorder.  So I hide.  I do share but in dribs and drabs, doling it out based on the reactions I get to the information I'm dropping.  My real friends know all about this.  But school acquaintances do not.  I, unfortunately, need to keep it that way for my kids' sake.  It kills me that I am part of the problem because that violates one of my cardinal rules. 

But I digress, I want to keep this as anonymous as possible which is such a shame because it is my friends who have been hounding me to do this for at least 10 years.  Maybe they'll stumble on it.  Maybe they'll see through it.  Whatevs.  IDGAF.

That brings me to my last two points.  I love internet abbreviations.  They crack me up.  And I cuss like a motherfucking sailor.  Deal.  :-)

P.S. Another point (I often like about last points, like dance teachers with their "last time" bullshit), I hate proofreading.  Sorry.  I used to be able to get away with it but since facebook I've noticed that I can't write two sentences without some really stupid typos.  I think it's because I type faster than I think and my fingers type what they think I'm going to say instead of waiting to find out what I really want to say.  There's your warning and I can rest easier knowing you know that I know I probably have lots of typos.  Phew.

P.P.S.  See, I told you.  Never done.  I've rambled horribly.  I just have so much to say and don't know how to direct it yet.  I'll get better, I promise.  Stick with me.  I know I'm all over the place just like I know I use too many commas and start too many sentences with "and."