Parents are LIARS...

I am 33 years old and to over the years I have learned that PARENTS LIE....and they lie often to their children. Parents naturally want to protect their children, and I get that. But when you watch shows like American Idol, and the really, really bad singers go on there and try to get a on the show, you have to wonder why did their parents lie to them?  If a child isn't good at something it should be the duty of the parent to say, "you know what this might not be your talent, but we will find it in something else." They should be honest with their child to protect them from being told on national tv that they are tone deaf and have no actual talent. (I also blame close friends and family members as well for lying too as to not hurt the person's feelings.) Honesty is the best policy, isn't that what most parents teach their children, but yet they lie constantly to them...Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Really people, I figured these out well before I am sure my parents hoped for. I am sure they wanted to have children that would believe in these LIES for much longer than about 6 years old.  Here are a few reasons I know my parents are liars and I am sure yours are too:

The White Horse: Setting: England, age five and my parents had the great idea that almost every weekend we would do something cultural. I love this about my parents, they exposed us to many wonderful things while we lived abroad and even back in the states. But let's get back to this lie that I wrote several school and even college essays about.  My parents told the four of us girls that we would be going to see a "white horse" over the weekend. Now that is all they said...my older sisters are 5 and ten years older than me and the twin so saying "white horse" meant something different to the two five year old. So the weekend comes and we pile into the car and drive in the rain several hours outside of Greenham Common where we lived. We get to a beautiful pasture and eat lunch in the back of the car. Mind you in my five year old mind I can't wait to see this white horse running around! We all walk to a ledge at the end of this pasture and it is roped off so you only can look out into the pasture below. So where is this "white horse" they promised me? Well, in the middle of this pasture, there is a mound and in the center of the mound is a "white horse"...made out of white rock. Yep...ROCKS! Devastation sets in and this everyone is the lie that stuck with me, even to this day I will bring it up to my parents and they just laugh! It was the representation of where St. George slew the dragon and since he is depicted riding a white horse, the Brits decided to make a white horse to commemorate the event. First example of something that needs to be explained to a five year old.


Santa: Setting: Nebraska, age 6. My parents always liked to make Christmas an all day event. Everyone had to eat breakfast, and then we could come downstairs to open gifts. We would open our stockings and then one of the older sisters would start handing out gifts. Here is the thing though... we would only open half of our gifts in the morning and then head upstairs to have lunch/supper and then return for the rest of the presents. They were big on suspense I guess. Well, here is the thing, we never put out cookies and milk for Santa...it was always cookies and WINE. Yes ladies and gentlemen, WINE. Things started getting interesting in Nebraska when I woke up on Christmas eve to go to the restroom- My room was right across from my parents and it was easier to just use their bathroom than walk down the hall...The door was closed partially, so I pushed it open. In my sleepy haze I see my parents standing on either side of the bed wrapping gifts! WHAT?? I thought Santa brought everything to us. What the hell is going on here. I asked them and they panicked and said nothing and just rushed me out of the room. The next morning it all made sense...as we started to unwrap presents my older sister noticed that my twin got a Calligraphy set that she had asked for and she got underwear that was meant for a six year old in her stocking. There were several mix-ups that Christmas, but my parents played it off as "well the elves must have mixed things up and Santa didn't notice." Nice try! After that I was suspicious and just gave up on the whole Santa idea, since I caught them in the act and it was evident that "SANTA" aka my parents drank a little too much the night before and got the gifts mixed up for us girls. My parents stopped saying things were from Santa pretty much after that. Now my mom doesn't even bother to wrap gifts she let's me pick which PJ set I want, along with what ever else she bought for Christmas. My father just gets us gift cards or writes us a check...no middle man now.

My parents are wonderful, but they lied to me. I don't love them any less, but they are two of the funniest people I know and the lies they told me, amuse me to this day. They laugh and just try to say I am remembering it wrong, but they know the truth!

So the moral of the story is, if you as parents are going to tell your children that honesty is the best policy, then lead by example. Don't tell them that a fat man comes down the chimney and drops off gifts, don't tell them a bunny lays eggs all over the yard- mind you eggs filled with candy and for gods sake if you accidentally leave a 20 dollar bill under their pillow instead of a quarter for a tooth, don't lie to them and say the tooth fairy has bad eye sight and couldn't see in the dark.  If you child tries activities that it is pretty evident that they are not good at, encourage them to look for their true talent, instead of telling them they are good at something that its apparent they will never excel, even with training- just be honest! Don't be liars like my parents were to me. I knew at an early age I was uncoordinated and tap and ballet were not for me and my parents even though they said keep at it, I knew they were lying. Its ok, I found my other talents, in playing the flute, school, crafts, etc. and I am a better person even though they lied!

I really do love my parents, promise.

Be kind today.

Mundane

I was driving to class one Tuesday and was listening to NPR about a musician that suffers from Bipolar. It was about his struggles to stay healthy while working on his music. One thing that he said stood out in my mind and a light bulb turned on. When asked how he is doing today with his disease, (and remember just because you can't see it, it is still a disease.) he said something to the point of, " I am able to deal with the mundane conversations more now than ever." This stuck with me and I had to discuss this with my mom when I stopped at her house before class.  I thought about all the way over there and this is what I came up with. Having Bipolar, my mind is wired a little differently than someone who does not have this disease. With my specific diagnosis, I tend to see the negative and bad before I see the beauty and blessings. I go from zero to 100 in a matter of milliseconds. I have more depression than manic highs.
I am a child of a cynic and a woman that keeps it real, so just imagine how my sense of conversation skills developed over my childhood. I am sarcastic to the bone and often will tell a person exactly what I am thinking without a filter, so needless to say having conversations with people about little things in their life was and to a point a challenge for me. After hearing that one statement, I realized it's true for me as well...I can handle the mundane conversations more than before. It is not to say that I do not enjoy talking to people or find them dull as the definition suggests, but it is more that my brain would not allow me to find interest in what people were talking about. My brain was fixated on what it thought was important and that was the depression and particular mood I might be in at that moment. 
I had to explain to my mother that I wasn't disinterested in what others were saying, even her, its just that my mind was not engaged in the conversation. She told me that she noticed that I often have a blank stare when she talks to me...again its not me being rude and thinking what she is saying is boring and not as important. I just couldn't focus on the little things that people would talk about, when there was a war going on inside my head. I dreaded having small talk with people, because I didn't know how to have those conversations with people. It is hard for me to this day to stop and ask people how they are doing and wait for their response. I have been able to push my boundaries to where I am comfortable having "regular" conversations that people have everyday. I cringe a little bit when it comes to meeting new people and finding things to talk about, but I can manage at least the simple conversation about simple things that people talk about on a regular basis- family, weather, school, what is happening in their life, etc. I hear everything that is said, but I have to remind myself that what this person is saying is important to them and I force the battle in my head to cease fire so I can truly listen to what they say to me. It's hard, but I am able to deal with the conversations now, and that is a big deal. Coming from the place I was a year ago to where I am now, that is a really big deal. 

Alcoholic

Depression is kind of like having alcoholism...you know there is something wrong. You know that you are slipping down a hole that is getting harder to get out of than before. You know that damage is being done on the inside but you just can't see it, so in your mind its not there. With depression you lose your desire to do things that once made you happy. It is a struggle to move from your bed to the couch and then to even get up to get something to eat. I feel as though I am an alcoholic that is too weak from drinking that I just can't do anything. No wait better yet I am a functioning alcoholic...I appear to be happy and get things done that need to be. I am well kept, my house isn't a disaster, my school work is done in advance, I am polite etc. But behind closed doors I am a mess. I am moody, reluctant to start projects in the house, because I know I won't have the energy to complete them. I push off things that can be done in an instant and say I will do them later. I am in some way dependent on my spouse for the boost of confidence he gives me to do things I like. I feel helpless most days and don't know why. No I mean I do know why...its called depression. I am at least aware of that... I know when the hold is coming over me and I know that something has to be done quickly to have it let go of me. But there are some days where I don't mind having another drink of "poor me" or "my life stinks." I don't mind just sitting on my couch in my PJs and doing nothing, because that calms the waves in my head. So I drink and drink some more to calm and soothe what bothers me. I snap out of it after a few days to a week, but in the eyes of professionals that means I have just had a manic episode and something has to be done to get me out of it. I know this...so why do I stay in the place that is so low? Well, here is the thing about suffering from depression, you can't just get over it...it is like being an alcoholic- it is part of your life for the rest of your life. You can have good days, and then you might have a few bad days. Its best to fill your life with people and places that will not allow you to relapse into the downward spiral, but you can't hide from the world to get away from your demons. Depression is a disease that is not seen on the outside, you wouldn't know I was depressed unless I told you. Just like an alcoholic I can hide it really well. I can smile and pretend that nothing is wrong, when I am screaming on the inside. Today, I had a drink this morning, but I won't be having a drink for awhile I am sure...it changes sometimes as quickly as the weather. Again, its with you for the rest of your life, waiting for you to take just one more drink.