Mother's Day

I love my Mum, but I don't do Mother's Day. We have come to an arrangement.

Now, let me explain. For some reason, be it the alignment of the stars, the change in seasons or insert clever anecdote here, this time of year hates on crazy people like me. This is the first Mother's Day in six years that I have not been either too depressed to drag myself out of bed or too manic to tell the difference between my mother and a large pineapple.

The worst Mother's Day we've had together was in 2008. It involved a nine hour car trip from Victoria and me at my most manic. I was hospitalised the very next day. The old man was driving (he is very old school in that respect, driving is the job of a man). I was on the back seat obsessed with my iPod, playing certain songs over and over again at a volume which Im surprised hasn't done permanent damage to my hearing. Over the course of this nine hour Mother's Day journey, my darling mummy would have looked over her seat to check on me over a hundred times. Completely powerless to do anything but concerned about me so much that on her special day I was probably the only thing she thought about.

I tend to burn people out. I have a few good friends that somehow put up with me and I hope they stick around. Even if they try though, they will never view my bipolar as intimately or with as much compassion as my mother does.

She deals with the fallout of my manias. She has seen me lie in bed for weeks on end. She knows me at my worst and at my best. While she hasn't been the most helpful to my mental wellbeing at times, she has given more than her best to understand and do whatever she possibly can to ensure I stay in the world of the living. My mother is very stubborn as far as I am concerned. She brought me in to the world all those years ago and has spent the rest of my 21 years making sure I stay in it.

At this point, I wish I could climb the moral mountain and tell you all that every day should be Mother's Day. That we should love and respect our mothers every day of the year. I only wish it were that simple. When you have a mental illness like bipolar, you never know from one day to the next how capable you will be of loving and supporting those around you.

Mental illness is in it's very nature selfish. You try pretending you are Yaweh for a day and then tell me it is anything but self-centred. Those around you feel it most and I know this because I have experienced the other side of the asylum. I attribute the fact that I am still around to rant at you mostly to my family but particularly my mummy.

My mother is caring and understanding when no one else is. I can have a screaming match with her one minute, shortly after discover I need help with something and know I can still turn to her. She is the most selfless person I know and will ever know. All she asks of me in return is that I follow my dreams, stay true to myself and have a conversation with her once in a while. She cares. Not just for me but for every person that is lucky enough to know her. My role models aren't famous people. They are people like my mum that do what they do day in, day out without recognition because it is just the person that they are. She is a gold standard. Someone whoose blood I am very proud to have flowing through my veins.

I urge you all to love, respect and appreciate your mother's. Be it on Mother's Day or another random point in the year of your choosing. When the appocalypse is upon me, be it zombie or other wise, when things are just FUBAR, there is only one on this earth that gives me a 100% guarantee that they will be in my corner of the proverbial ring. I am just hoping when mania strikes again, I am sound of mind enough to know the difference between my mother and a large pineapple.

Happy Mother's Day to all you amazing mummies out there but particularly mine. When the day comes that I have to put you in a home, I will make sure it is a nice one.

With all my love and never enough gratitude,

Your mentally unstable Son.

Stay awesome.