It has been ten years since I last spoke with or saw my two children. The reason for this is because of divorce and an misdiagnosed mental illness. I was being treated for Major Depressive Disorder and ADHD, when in fact I should have been diagnosed with ailments more significant.
The medicines for MDD made me very lethargic, irritable, angry, and agitated. I was travelling a lot for work ten years ago and when I would come home I was irritable with my wife and children. I would yell and scream at them. They eventually had enough: A separation and then a divorce.
I miss my children. Each and every day is like processing their death. I cry with tears. Often. The pain is excruciating.
Yet, what have I learned in the ten years that I have been absent in their life?
I have learned that love never dies. I love my children with all my heart, mind, and soul.
I have learned that if you love someone with all your everything, that you must let go of your fears and allow goodness to trickle in.
I have learned that mental illness, especially Bipolar Disorder, is a relationship killer. Mental illness needs to be treated effectively in order for any relationship to work.
I have learned that you must love yourself before you love anyone else. Learning to love yourself after divorce or alienation from loved children is difficult: But with therapy, it can work. It is a process.
I have learned that getting properly diagnosed should be the mission of everyone thinking they have a mental illness, especially Bipolar Disorder. A proper diagnosis will lead to proper medication and therapy which will make all the difference.
I have learned that the United States Family Court system is not equipped (or perhaps don’t want) to deal with mental illness and the alienation of children.
I have learned that a support network of family and friends is crucial to battling mental illness.
The forced ten year absence from my children has been a horrific ordeal. Yet, by learning how to deal with the past and move forward, I can only hope for reunification to happen at some point. I miss them dearly. But, what can I do but move on with my life? I don’t know if they are alive, and if they are, are they happy, healthy, and good citizens?
I am not one to pray. My level of spirituality has waned in the past ten years. I am definitely not one to practice the religion for which I was raised. Yet, although I have lost hope in the past, I now possess an inkling of hope that my children will want to one day look into and investigate what actually happened to their father. When, and if, that happens, I want to be in the best place that I can possibly be in. I want to be happy, healthy, and in charge of my psychiatric condition. I want to show them that I got kicked but I didn’t stay down on the ground.
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