Sunday, March 30, 2014

What Else Can I Say?

Sometimes I feel like it's odd that I bare my soul for the public to see.  Am I not even a little ashamed of my soul?  I mean we all wear protective gear, where is mine?  I mean I still believe it or not, don't tell my readers everything.  There are things that are sacred, even for me.

My family is sacred.  They may have a flaw or two and I know those flaws like the back of my hand, but I will never tell.  I will tell you though that they are rock stars.  Seriously, they took care of me, they take care of me, and I'm not like easy to take care of.  

I don't know if you know anything about Manic Depression but it is very difficult to watch someone go through it.  (Let me make one thing clear though, it was only when I was not taking medication that I was ill, there is a cure to my disease, the pills.  I now take them everyday).

When I didn't take my medication, I was mean.  There were times I was a straight up bitch.  

My family loved me through it.  

I wanted so badly to hate them, but they made it impossible with unconditional love.  I'm not just saying that because I'm related to them.  I mean my parents are Indian for god sakes, they wanted a normal daughter who would get married and be a doctor.

I'm none of those things, mainly I'm not normal.  They I'm sure did not expect to love someone like me, but that is their way.  They love their children, whatever way they turn out.  

Not to say I turned out bad.  I think in some kinda way I'm a rock star as well.  I mean I'm beating a disease and I'm trying to live out my dreams and I'm kind.  I'm not a hard person to love in general, but when I became crazy I was.  And it was a disease and it was chemical and biological.  

But it got personal.

My sister has never for one second held a single thing I said or did to her during that time against me.  My sister is a truly beautiful person.  Everyone loves the shit out of her.  

Oh she has her share of spunk and she'll tell you what's on her mind, but she is all good inside.  We are not friends, we are not enemies, we are not twins or anything.

We are the true definition of sisters.  She could not be more different than me, but we share a sacred bond.  She cares for me.  She is a nurse practitioner now and helps me with medical issues as well.  

I love her.

Look I got lucky.  I live in the lap of luxury in Troy, Michigan with want for nothing.  Yes, I'm thirty eight and live with my parents.  I need a little assistance and when I'm ready, I will move out.  

Sometimes I'm ashamed of this fact that I am allowing my family to take care of me.  Then I think, Oh my God, thank you, I have a family that can take care of me.    

Every time I have a conversation with my sister, she offers me money, and not in a derogatory fashion, but in a loving and decent way.  I told her to wait, because there may be some time when I actually need money from her, and I know that I won't even have to ask.  

My father put me through college as he went blind and still worked, my mother worked so hard all her life as a doctor to keep us in designer clothes.   

So why am I ranting all the time about this difficult life that I have?  You know human nature and all that crap.  Fuck that.  

I need to be grateful that I'm not living on the streets, where a majority of mentally ill people live.  I broke bread with homeless people in psychiatric wards.  I may have an Ivy League education, but the only thing that separates me from those that have to sell their body or drugs, is my family.  

Straight up, they are the reason I'm still alive.  

I ran away to New York when I was sick.  I could have died out there, but I didn't because they came.  

I told them not to come.  I told them I hated them.

They came anyways.  They came to Harlem, my dad with a blind man's cane, and my mother with a bad back, neck and shoulders.   

I told them not to love me.

They say love is blind, I disagree because my father is blind but he can see me, he can see what I really am and he loves me still.  Love is not blind, it can see, it is actually kind of stupid really. Love is rather misguided.     

But my family is not stupid.  And I'm not stupid.  We are smart, and we still love each other even when it makes no sense.  

Perhaps it is stupid for them to love me, but thank god for irrational, unconditional love.  

Some people say there is no god, but I don't know who else could have made these people I proudly call my family.  

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