It’s The Word

I’ve hit upon it.

The word is indifference.

The family approves of the things I’ve done and my trappings.

But they are indifferent to what makes me ME. The kind of things–imaginary and not–that inform my thoughts and dreams. How being bipolar and ADHD has shaped my life outside, but mostly inside.

As long as I don’t suicide or do anything else untoward, all’s well with their world. But I bear watching, because there’s always a chance I might do those things. That’s because they care about what happens to my outsides. My insides, well, because they don’t know and are not inclined to try and understand the why and how, they lack the sympathy and compassion to deal with it. And so, when I’m depressed, suicidal, have a bout of mania, or maybe all three, it’s my fault for not being “right.” “What’s wrong with you?” is something I’ve heard pretty often over the years.

You might be wondering why I whine in this blog rather than bringing the issues up with them. FYI, I have. The result? What I perceive is nothing but my imagination. The real world isn’t that way, and they definitely are not. What I see and feel is invalid. Therefore, *I* am invalid.

You’d keep your mouth shut, too.


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