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I just read an article here on WordPress in regard to immaturity and bipolar disorder. They argued that you should not confuse the two; claim to have bipolar when you really don’t and confuse it for your immature actions and say it’s in the name of bipolar disorder.

The blog post is giving me a flash back to a therapy session I had with Diego roughly two years ago when we tried to work things out post me cheating on him. It was the one and only therapy session I have ever had in eight years where I cried, but not for the reasons you might think. Both my therapist and Diego made the claim that I lacked the depth and maturity to take responsibility for my actions in regard to the event. I continually blamed my bipolar for “making me” cheat on Diego, it wasn’t until a year or so later that I began saying I cheated on him because I wanted to. My suicidal state influenced my decision to do so, but I easily could have reached out to anyone besides Justin, the guy I cheated with. I could have reached out or gone to Diego’s work, could have called a friend, or even my family.

This post I read hit me hard because often times I still don’t take responsibility for my own actions, thoughts, and words. I tend to lump bipolar into my excuse for my own immaturity. My therapist then linked it to the fact I never had the chance to really go through adolescence because I was too busy being in survival mode, taking care of my drunk and schizophrenic mother that I never got to grow up. Well, not so much grow up, because I grew up exceptionally fast in some aspects. I learned to take care of myself and ask for help if need be. I was very reliable and independent, which led me to get a job at 16 even though I didn’t have to. But in other aspects, especially emotionally, I was behind those my own age. Something that I am still struggling to catch up on.

Last night I had a fight with Diego in regard to staying at his parents’ house. He lives with them and I live with my folks. Neither of us ever want to sleep at each other’s house because we both enjoy being home. It’s a pain in the ass to stay at Diego’s new house because all he has is an air mattress and with him working six days a week as an essential employee, he doesn’t want to stay at his house until it’s fully furnished. That leads us to the argument. It was my turn to sleep over at his parents’ house with him and he says I made an excuse not to sleep over, but I honestly was extremely nauseous and struggling with my GI issues so I didn’t want to get into a moving vehicle. So I stayed at my house and he went home, he was very frustrated. I later admitted that I didn’t like going there because I didn’t feel at home there, even though I had known his family for almost 6 years. He asked why I couldn’t just be honest with him. Previously I said I just wanted to be home, but now he feels as though I omitted the truth, which is the same as lying to him.

Why can’t I just say the truth? I knew the truth would hurt his feelings so I gave a very true response to why I didn’t want to come over. But omitting truth is as good as lying. I think I grew up lying to my mom so much in order to do and achieve what I wanted, I never really knew how to tell the full truth of anything. She herself during her drinking days was a severe compulsive liar so I never experienced true honesty growing up. Now I am forced to break the cycle and although I have improved in the past two years, even the little things that don’t matter trip me up.

As humiliating and embarrassing as it is to say, I don’t have the depth and maturity needed for an adult my age to just tell the truth, I am more concerned about protecting my own ass than anything else, which I realize now, is juvenile. But it is something I am working with my therapist about. I don’t want to live like this forever. And if forever does exist with Diego, I need to fix my issues or else forever with him will be omitted.

Til Next Time,


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