Chapter 5: Stuffed With Pills

I was my mothers scapegoat. It was easier to blame me then to take any responsibility for all the troubles in her life:

Lived in poverty. No job. Mental health issues. Drank and smoked. Shut out her family. And-on-and-on.

My mother has Bipolar disorder and has been heavily medicated almost her entire life. As young as I can remember she also had me taking pills for Bipolar disorder. For the first few years I never saw a doctor, she diagnosed me herself. I am telling you, those pills messed me up, in fact I think they gave me Bipolar. I say that because when I went into foster care (Chapter still to come) and I wasn’t forced to take those medications anymore I was a completely different person.

Yes, forced. It didn’t take me long to realize that my mother was giving me half of her prescribed medications when I was 8 or 9. When I became a teen she was able to get a doctor to prescribe me my own. That woman had me on every single depression medication that had ever been invented. I call my mom the master manipulator for lots of reasons, but she would do anything to keep me on those pills. Any chance I could get a hold of the pill bottles I would throw them down the toilet. When I was a teenager I found out she would slip it into my food and chocolate milk. She would buy me a gallon of chocolate milk and would put a bunch of medication in it… great idea. I was taking unequal and irregular dosages of depression medication which made me absolutely out of control.

It gets worse, when I was 14 she called my job and told them that I was not mentally stable enough to have a job, so they FIRED me. She took privileges, friends, and just about anything away from me to get me to take those pills.

Putting me on medication that I didn’t need for years damaged me. I remember when I was younger I would slam my head against the wall because the medication was so powerful it made me hallucinate. It messed with my memory and my health overall.

 

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