[MedusaRantz]

Okay, back to San Diego, Cali. My father was diagnosed w/ Bipolar Mania 3. Top tier. He refused any form of treatments: no meds, no therapy. Old country Greeks see mental disorders as a stigma and as shameful. Two or three times a YEAR he would go into a manic phase. One day he was talking to a friend and the friend mentioned Oprah Winfrey, and he flew off the handle. He was a basher, a thrower, a destroyer of anyone and anything in his manic rage. (The friend fled the house). One aspect of BPM is that one has a terrible time sleeping. My dad would complain that he could not shut his 'brain' off, and so when he went to bed, he listened to a radio all night, then got up for work. His violent moods were very disturbing to me as a child. A child's mind cannot comprehend why a father who is so loving and tender one moment, would fly into a furious rage on a dime. Perhaps this contributed to my insomnia. I love my dad and feared him. At nights I would stay awake and listen to him pacing around the house, talking to himself, etc. My fear was that his mania would erupt, and i being the only one awake, would feel his wrath. So I spent a great amount of my childhood and teen years just observing my father. I guess I was afraid to sleep. To be frank with all of the forum members, these memories plague me, and certainly must contribute to my insomnia…to this day. Did I mention thta my dad was an avid gun collector? Remember when the Shuttle crashed in the early 80's? That was an evening I recall not because of the shuttle, but because my dad and mom got into a colossal goat f**k of an argument. My dad was telling my mom he was going to get a gun and just be done with it. The argument started in the front yard. Sooo,(I was about 24 at the time), went into the garage, where the gun room was, and found all the keys he had hidden for it. I took them all into the gun room with me. And waited. This argument went on for several hours, yet I am still perplexed as to why I didn't call the police. I told my mother, at one time, that one of my greatest childhood fears was that my dad would go off the deep end and shoot all of us. My mother replied that this never worried her. A child sees things differently, even after the child has become an adult. In conclusion regarding this topic, in my opinion, insomnia is a trait which is, sometimes, created by a layering on of psychological trauma from a very early age. And when we ponder these trauma's, we see them with the eyes of a child, at the moment in which they occurred. You cannot grow out of these types of demons. You just learn to live with them. And if you can't do that, there is no safety in sleep. The sanctity of sleep has been forever changed in the individual. i'll stop for now.

[emmaree]

Hi Medusa

That was such a frank view of your childhood, I cannot imagine how fearful it must have been for you as a child.

My father would also go into this manic rages, though never diagnosed I'm convinced that he is bipolar. I have experienced the same, a loving caring dad one minute a crazy manic stranger the next. Though I have never experienced him being physically abusive and he has settled some what in old age.Every now and then he loses it.

Have you had treatment for trauma?

I hope your sleep improves and you feel safe as time progresses

cheers em

[MedusaRantz]

Hello, Em! Such a pleasure to meet you. And you live in one of my favorite continents: AUSTRALIA! My mother and step-father have visited. I hope to one day do the same. Many friends in Melbourne and Tasmania. Thank you for your response to my posting.

I am sorry to hear, but I don't feel so alone, that you, too, had a bipolar father to deal with. It really twists a child's mind: one day/moment to have a l loving and caring parent, and the next, they're off the hook with a manic episode. When I was much older I queried my mother: Didn't it worry you that dad was violently bipolar and had owned over 200 guns, (and he knew how to make his own bullets, too. Happy Happy Joy Joy, not)? She said no, it never occurred to her to worry. I was speechless. Which doesn't happen to me often, LOL!

But that is where I draw a definitive line between how an adult experiences trauma, and how a child views trauma. Still, to this day, I am afraid of my father. He is 81 now. Having not spoken to him since my YiaYia died (Grk for Grandma), (over 12 years ago), I rang him up to 'test the waters' and wish him a Happy Christmas.

Here is his response, verbatim: “You? Aren't you dead? Why aren't you dead? Someone should've killed you by now.” Click. The line went dead.

Intellectually, I now know that was the disease speaking, but it still hurt as bad as when I was a child. He would take me driving to the Red Light District in San Diego, and tell me that I'd never amount to anything; I'd end up as a 'whore,' and other miserable verbal abuse. So, it is what it is, you know what I mean my sister? I am in therapy and am going for a 3rd degree in Psychology, specializing in C-PTSD and PTSD, working with kids from 9 to 25. My shrink has an office waiting for me. LMAO. Dr. Greg is awesome.

You're so warm and down to earth. I believe a friendship has been born, yes? Call me Jennie, if you like. Medusa is my Twitter name, and my Greek name, 'Ianoulla,' well, its a mouth full. So, Em, much love to you. I try to stay logged on to 'insomnialand' all day and thru the night. So I'll check in later, ok? We'll find a way out of 'this' together!

[tschopm]

Yeah, I can see how that would influence your sleep patterns…I know that soldiers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder have a terrible time sleeping, especially ones from the Vietnam War. They feel that they have to be alert at all times in case the enemy strikes, not because they're delusional, but it's so hard wired into them. That, and they have terrible flashbacks, sometimes out of nowhere. Night terrors, etc.

It must be terrible having to deal with that, I can only imagine…

[MarinaFournier]

But that is where I draw a definitive line between how an adult experiences trauma, and how a child views trauma. Still, to this day, I am afraid of my father. He is 81 now. Having not spoken to him since my YiaYia died (Grk for Grandma), (over 12 years ago), I rang him up to 'test the waters' and wish him a Happy Christmas.

Here is his response, verbatim: “You? Aren't you dead? Why aren't you dead? Someone should've killed you by now.” Click. The line went dead.

My last talk with my father, the day after Father's Day one year (his phone had been busy all day–may have been his adopted daughter, his wife's niece doing the teen thing), was one where he was depressed and wailing about something I couldn't undertand or do anything about. He had been told around ten years ago that I would not discuss anything about my sister or my mother, and he kept *pushing* it. That was the last straw, and I sent him a letter saying I didn't want to talk to him again. I knew I was going to hear that I'd put him in the hospital, but really, his own uncontrolled rages and high blood pressure did that, and I shrugged it off when it happened.

When I was dx'd bipolar, and told it was hereditary, I looked back on my father and saw where in the year his despressions hit. He'd been in the USAF, and in the military, you don't see a shrink, or it's out the door for your career. As it was, he was a self-destructive person, anyway. I think *his* father was, as well. His brother was a perfectly nice guy.

Intellectually, I now know that was the disease speaking, but it still hurt as bad as when I was a child. He would take me driving to the Red Light District in San Diego, and tell me that I'd never amount to anything; I'd end up as a 'whore,' and other miserable verbal abuse.

Mine was good at cutting you down verbally–my mom, he beat (etc), raped, humililated, and ridiculed, at the least; my sister he molested, humiliated, and belittled in much the way you describe above–also in San Diego! Me, I got the verbal abuse and humiliation.

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