The Bipolar Transformation

Daddy’s Girl~ (Entry 9) {1995}

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Dear Diary,

We were home at last! Kris was waiting outside the parking lot…biting her lip and solaced my father’s shoulders. It didn’t faze her one bit that I existed. Her only motive was to be a “drama queen” and win over my dad’s affection entirely. She looked plain as day…no color on her face and her clothing appeared as if a blind old broad had picked out her apparel. I glanced her direction, and then turned toward the door to enter my bedroom. The room was desolate, cream-white wall paper, and limited space to move around freely. The smell of cigarette smoke was apparent…Kris had been smoking at least 3-4 packs a day. Her teeth were yellow, crooked and full of cavities. I never understood what my dad had found so attractive in this women…besides, she was well equipped with money.

I never doubted the two of them shared chemistry. But, my father was a difficult person to apprehend. His moods altered ever so slightly. More so, now than ever before. It was quite odd behavior and unlike his character to go from extreme highs to lows…happy to sad…or even pure rage just out of the blue. Frankly, the narcotics had an influence, and possibly the over-the-counter pain med’s; he was dependent on since being imprisoned for 6 months. My father, David had issues with committing to women. He had a tendency to push away any attractive women that got too attached. Honestly, the idea of marrying Kris was preposterous. He didn’t love her, so what was his reasoning for wanting to tie the knot so unexpectedly?

The day raced on by and Kris knocked on my bedroom door. As I opened it, she held out a coral white dress with ruffles spread throughout the front. A little flower headband was also included along with an elegant necklace, and earring set. “Me and your father decided to make you the flower girl for our wedding”. “You will dress appropriately and not make a fuss about anything”.  “I will be your new mother soon enough”. She hovered over my shoulder for a brief minute…squeezing my cheeks. “Don’t make me regret this”…she replied a final time.  I chuckled to myself…(Laughs) She was not suitable to be a wife let alone a “MOTHER”! I already had made up my mind…she was not my mom, and couldn’t force me to claim her as such.

The wedding was arranged for tomorrow. My young life would soon be heading down a path of possible “boarding school”. Kris and my father had left early for their dinner rehearsal while I stayed over at “Grandma Sue’s” that evening.  Sue, was a kind and gentle soul. She baked the best chocolate chip cookies as well as brownies! Her husband “Grandpa Roger”, was the opposite…reserved, a tad quirky, but genuinely honest. He took his daily nap’s during the day, watched fishing shows,ate a satisfactory meal, and then repeated his routine of sleeping. Grandma sue had commanded it was time for my bedtime too. She accompanied me down the stairs.

The basement was full of cob webs, and old paintings with steel frames were displayed on each side of the jagged walls. The television was near the guest room along with lots of cabinet space ideal for nativity sets, ornaments, and picture albums. She loved her collection of angels, as they were dispersed in every room of her exquisite home. The vaulted ceiling’s contained hidden weaponry…which children were forbidden to touch. Grandma Sue, had made it clear no possessions were to be toyed with. I was good at abiding by boundaries regardless. We entered the guest room and she tucked me into the tidy little bed. I sunk into the sheets and embraced the warmth of my fluffy pillow. “Good night dear”. She whispered.

The wind howled near my window and shook the ground beneath me. I had awoken to discover my body was burning up rapidly. It felt like I had been laying next to a fire-place, but that wasn’t the actual reason. My stomach gurgled with an oddly sharp sensation lingering in my gut. I stood up nauseated and prepared to rush towards the toilet vicinity without gasping for breath. By the time I had reached the bathroom door…it was too late. The smell of vomit infused my senses as well as stained the carpet floor. A light suddenly flickered on, and Grandma Sue lead me back to bed with a benevolent gestured hug. “You are quite flushed dear child”. She than returned toward the bathroom, disinfected the carpet, and brought me back some Tylenol.

“Open up wide, we need to take your temperature” She hinted. “We must notify a doctor immediately tomorrow morning if the symptoms don’t reside”. The thermometer read 101.5 degrees. She then saturated a clean cloth with cold water, and laid it over my forehead. “Get some rest, and I will checkup on you in the morning”. I closed my eyes, the sharp “pin & needle” effect was overpowering. I tossed and turned all throughout the night…trying to avoid another “spewing” session. The night was uncertain, but I squeezed my pillow firmly. With my eye’s fastened shut; the re-occurring dream had begun to take toll. The mirror was reflective and the room I had been trapped in continuously spun in consecutive motion.  The laughing echoed even louder now and the brink of time emerged.

Daybreak had arisen, and soon I had forced myself awake. Grandma Sue was kneeled down beside me stroking my red hair back. “You had yourself a bad dream I presume”? Luckily it was only a nightmare…but, I had frequent dreams that dealt with cyclonic disturbances often. My stomach was still uneasy…and low and behold another episode of vomit occurred. “You poor little dear…let’s sit you up and take your temp”. The thermometer this time read 102 degrees. “Goodness… Let’s settle you down in a luke-warm bath”. My reeking body was soon covered in lavender aroma. I played with my rubber ducky and captivated inside of my imagination. The hour I had spent in the bubble bath was an invigorating adventure! (Kid Perspective).

Good night, Diary.

 

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Kristi has told her testimony to over 2,000 foster youth in 2012. She continues to inspire many with her creative writing style and chilling stories depicted by an innocence and horrid journey.

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Posted in Diary Entries
16 comments on “The Bipolar Transformation
  1. Sreeblogs says:

    I love the style of your writing…😊😊 keep it up

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I just read the first nine installments, reading each faster than the previous. Such a courageous retelling. My prayers for you.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sorry my friend, I hope you remember me, unfortunately got lost in number of post at my end. So difficult to track. Will look where I left.

    Liked by 1 person

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