I have found it difficult to build and maintain healthy relationships. Throughout my 20’s, most of my relationships were based on the erratic, uncontrolled behaviors of my untreated illness, bipolar. It wasn’t until I was 28 that I was diagnosed and by then I had wreaked such havoc in my life, sabotaged any positive influences and destroyed what I considered the moral of my character. I had betrayed those that loved me the most and desecrated my own marriage. I looked around and found myself pretty much alone. Even through this, I couldn’t come to terms with my diagnosis. I felt like the world had turned against me. Sure, I had some issues; who didn’t?
Eric Honeycutt once said, “The wings of angels are often found on the backs of the least likely people.” My angel came to me in the guise of my stepmother. To better understand why she would be such an unlikely angel, you need to grasp just how unstable our relationship was. She came into my life just a few years after my mother was murdered. At that time, I had witnessed more tragedy then the common CSI showed all season long. I knew death, betrayal, abuse and I held them close to me. It was the only thing that had been a constant in my life. I didn’t take well to her new role as a mommy. The following years held resentment, physical abuse, my first suicidal attempt, and ended with being 18, pregnant and homeless. As my journey began as a single mother, my parents began a sinister journey of drugs, pills, and multiple overdoses. I walked away and thought I had lost them to a reality that I no longer could bear. For the following ten years, communication with them was sporadic and usually very emotionally charged.
It happened gradually, the rebuilding of a relationship beyond comprehendible repair. My stepmom, Tina, began to seek help for her addictions and slowly began to humanize in my eyes again. In time, she became my one true friend. As my behavior became more outrageous, she listened without a judgmental ear. I didn’t struggle to reach out to her, as I had with most other people. Asking for help, someone to relate to, or just some understanding was no longer a difficult feat for me. She surprisingly, in a time of turmoil, became the one person I trusted. In life, I had never shared such intimate details about myself to anyone. Tina knew my heart like no one else. It was with her, that I finally began to trust someone. My defense mechanism of detachment was turned off.
While Tina grew into my only pillar, I found myself going out of my way to make sure she had enjoyment in her life. As my parents are very limited on resources; I funded family camping trips, bonfire parties, and BBQ’s. Contrary to a history of ten years, we appeared to be a normal, functioning family; spending the holidays under one roof, again. We spent two wonderful years building on estranged family back into one unit. As that short two years had to come to an end, I constantly have to reassure myself that I was able to give her as much as she gave me.
On June 3, 2009, just days after finally accepting treatment for my bipolar, I received the worst call imaginable. Tina had died in the wee hours of the morning due to an accidental drug overdose. Her life ended to the one thing she had fought to overcome. In an instant, I felt undeniably alone again. While, my heart doesn’t break with every memory of her, I still feel her void. I often long to pick up the phone and hear her raspy voice on the other end. Driving to their home isn’t the same without knowing she’ll be there to greet me. She is loved.
“The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”
George Elliot
