This movie has spiraled my mind into a contemplative tangent that's stinging like a bee. stinging sensations That had become estranged.
I contemplate so many things, too many things all at once. White picket fences mixed with white restraining coats. The gleam of a sunrise with the orange shadows of the hundreds of bottles lining the counter.
They say a mothers love is the greatest gift & the gift of life is the greatest a woman can give. My greatest gift is in the protection of keeping my sickness isolated within me. I give a mothers love by knowing that I will not be the creator of a life born with a sickness. I could never watch another suffer & struggle , especially a child that was a part of me & a part of my illness. I am defective & defunct.
So many men have chosen wives & women they feel honored to stand by, humbled to love and blessed to have. They are intelligent, beautiful & with "good heads on their shoulders." They are women strong enough to raise and love a family.
All too often you will hear a man proudly speak of his wife, how she's a wonderful mother or successful or how she holds the family together. And all too often you hear the whispering comments of those who were left behind. "She was crazy," "she was bipolar," she was depressed & I couldn't take it anymore." Never have the words "my wife has bipolar" or "girlfriend is bipolar" spoken. It's the nasty secret shoved in the closet & the ban aid that's never pulled.
Why would a man want to taint his name in a judgmental society by a women's sickness?
Why would a man want to love her when the world thinks she's crazy?
Why would he want to burden himself with drying her eyes, holding her tight & protection her from herself?
It's all too much to deal with yourself let alone someone else. Someone who's suppose to walk beside you & not behind you shuffling feet.
But such is a balance of the strong and the weak & for every weakness comes a greater strength and though a mind may be weak the soul can be stronger. Strengthened by survival & from facing yourself every moment of everyday.
See, we may be perceived as weak when in fact we're that much stronger. Not from wanting to be but from having no other choice.
All women are unique and all have different attributes that bring appeal as do all people. No two are the same yet those with mental illness seem to be labeled as such.
Perhaps one of theses days someone will look past my diagnosis and past my "medical surname" & truly see that I have so much to offer & give only asking for support, protection and love in return.
One of these days I'll find my acceptance or I'll find myself lost within the disconnecting numbness. Only the latter part of the two seems promising.
