My mother was manic.

Dear Mom,

Mental illness runs in our family. You mom, Dianne was Bipolar. Her mom was clinically depressed and stoned constantly. Her husband, or your grandpa was also Bipolar. Me, though have not yet had a therapist tell me I have a disorder. Knock on wood.

I could never wrap my mind around your illness, but now I can recognize it more clearly. You always told me about mental illness, but I never understood yours. I remember coming home from school, and trying to talk to you, but you wouldn't respond, you would just sit there. Your eyes were angry.I asked why you were so mad at me, and you wouldn't say a word. I never knew. Then you would get up and slam things like doors. I shook every time you slammed a door. You would take glasses and throw them at me, and I would dodge them. I remember the day one hit me. You were screaming at your boyfriend and trying to rip out your hair. You were yelling and hitting your self with your fists in your head. I begged you to stop, I tried to grab your hands, but you would just get madder. I cried hysterically. Your make up was running all down your face and smears of black and red covered your face. You told me to leave, that you hated me, that you didn't want me anymore. This probably intended to make me stop crying, made me cry harder. You went to the wall and started banging on it. You told your boyfriend what a piece of shit he was. You took the light bulb right out of the lamp and threw it on the ground. I yelled at you to stop once more. You walked into the kitchen, where I was standing and grabbed a glass you threw it at me, but missed and hit the window. You turned around and I thought you were done but then you turned again, picked up another glass and threw it. I couldn't dodge that one , and it hit me in the neck and chin and fell to the ground, where it shattered. I broke down and fell to the ground, around all the glass. That's when you stood there and stared. Then you walked away and left. You slammed the door again. I laid on the floor crying and your boyfriend tried to get me to stand up but I wouldn't. I fell asleep there. When I woke up I decided to pick up the mess. I saw a pool of blood next to the light bulb you had cracked earlier. When I went to clean it up with a towel I threw up. I saw so disgusted. I still cannot stomach blood. I finally got myself together and finished the mess. You walked in later that night and left the lights off. I was in my homemade bed on the floor when you laid down and curled up next to me. I was awake, but you didn't know that. I could smell the alcohol on your breathe, it was outrageous. I'm almost afraid to say that I think your illness raised me.
Love, your daughter.