The Dying of FriendshipsChanges In the Wind
Many years ago I befriended three girls, but one in particular reminded me of myself a great deal. That girl’s name was Brittney MacCoulha. Brittney was your average high strung girl. She had long blond hair, beautiful green eyes that glowed like green gems stones, and a smile that would brighten anyone’s day. Throughout the years, these girls had been like sisters toward one another; always looking out for each other. They had been through much together; however, Brittney was the wild one and the one who was down to earth. I remember back in the days when we were young, the world seemed like a beautiful place; like life was worth living. Those days have long died on us all, no matter who you are, their will always be that point in life you wish you could recapture. Brittney and I lived a similar life. In our youth, our parents were prosperous and well established in society. We pretty much had everything we asked for and life seemed like it would be smooth sailing, but perhaps that period in time for us was the calm before the storm. Before we knew it our parents had dwindled their funds away and we were scraping to survive. Plus we both had that troubled parent, the one who had a problem. Mine was my mother while Brittney’s was her father. I confided in her for support with my mother. My mother suffers from Paranoid Schizophrenia and Manic depression. These diseases spell disaster for a family as you can probably guess. Upon the death of my grandmother, my mother’s illnesses went down hill. Somewhere in her madness I also fell down hill. I became depressed and attempted suicide many times during that period of time. I set myself on fire at one point and almost jumped off a mountain at another point. All the stress sadness and anger repressed in me was killing me. It was piercing my soul like a thousand shards of glass cutting me to death. Through this time I endured through intense psychotherapy and anti-depressant medications. While I was, I had the three girls by my side supporting me and providing me with hope. Surely enough I made it through that dark period in my life. Unfortunately my mother did not follow my example. I took extreme meds to help me through my sickness. My mother however refused to take her medications and now her mental stability has degraded over time, and her ability to hold one personality and her own sanity has nearly died. I hated my mother for her disease. It angered me due to the stress and drama it caused in my life. I developed hatred and malice toward my mother due to the frustration she was causing me. My mother once told me that “I was nothing but a worthless mistake, and that my father had raped her and as a result I was born”. However, I told her “that was impossible due to the fact that he had been married ten years before you had me.” All she could say to me was that “you can believe what you want but the truth is the truth.” My mother has cursed at me, told me to go to hell on many occasion, and has told me that she didn’t love me.