I glanced over at the doctor's paper resting near me. The word BIPOLAR was circled, and that's when I knew that my true thoughts were confirmed. There's a shocker I told myself sarcastically. I've always known that I was bipolar. It's something that I've felt for a very long time. Before then, the doctor would ask me a series of questions, like..

"Do you have a history of depression in your family?"

"Yeah, I think I do. My mother suffers from anxiety, and she doesn't act normal at all. I think my grandparents have it too."

"Oh," he began to say, "Usually being bipolar is in your genes, so that could help."

He smiled at me. Like that's really what I wanted to see at that moment. What I really wanted is my pills. I wanted to just say Look, I know I'm a fuck up, now just give me the motherfucking medicine!, but yet I restrained my urges.

I had to do a survey, too. It was really awkward. Some of the questions, I thought, had nothing to do with being bipolar.

Choose your gender: Male

Are you attracted to: Men? Women? or Both?

"What?.." I said to no one. I blinked at that question, and thought to myself what sucking cock has anything to do with being bipolar. I shook that thought out of my mind and circled 'men'. The other questions weren't too weird, and I finished within ten seconds, because almost every single answer was 'all the time'.

Are you happy and then sad?

Do you have times when you're suicidally depressed, and then happy the next?

"Yes...yes..." It seemed like my default answer, only it wasn't.

The doctor came back in, and I handed him the sheet. We talked briefly about my mental history with my family, and I can't recall each question asked. All I know is that I had to give blood, and get dressed in a hospital gown. The giving the blood part wasn't bad, but he then wanted to check my testicles for something, and I vehemetly refused. He said that I was very young to have anything anyways, and he let it go. I refused because I don't like strange men, or women, touching me. The only way you can touch me is if I trust you, and I was shaky with this guy. It wasn't until I came back a few weeks later that I learned I was bipolar. The doctor perscribed me Lamictal, and I was on my way to a fun journey.

As I left the doctors office I thought to myself what in my sixteen years of living could have made me finally snapped. There were too many to choose from, and too many faces to blame.

------------------

The earliest memories I have of my childhood isn't anything bad. I remember living with my father in a blue apartment, and every morning he would take me upstairs so I could be watched as he went to work. I was about four or five then. The rest of my childhood is filled with blurs, empty blanks, and terror. I really wish I could go back to that blue apartment.

"That's it," my mother yelled over the phone, "I can't take it anymore! I want him out of my life, and I want you out of my life. Come and get him now!" She was yelling at my father, and talking about me.

"Laura, are we going to go through this shit again?" My father shot back.

"No, because this time I mean it!"

"Alright, fine, but I'm bringing the papers with me, and I'm bringing the cops. I don't want you to call the police again, and say I kidnapped him."

There was a pause.

"No, there's no need for the police. I'll just sign the papers, but fucking hurry up."

I was tossed around my parents households quite a bit. I would be with my father first, and then my mother would barge in and take me away. They would constantly fight ovr me, and my father was getting irritated. My mother signed the papers as said, and I was now in my fathers custody.

My father worked, and took care of me. He's always had those two jobs, and he has always loved them. During the hours of my fathers first job, he would send me to a local daycare center. My father had to explain the situation to the caretaker, and would always say:
"If Laura calls, or shows up, tell her that the kid stays here." He said firmly.

"Alright." The woman replied.

Apparently my mother knew what was going on, because she fought like hell to get me back. Ever since she signed the papers she wanted me back, and somehow she found out about me being at the daycare, and assumed, or either knew, that my father warned them about her.

She phoned them.

"Hello, Waters Day Care, Clara speaking." The woman said calmly.

"Hi, this is Rebecca Downing, and I'm calling because I would like to come over to see if this place is good for my daughter. Do you think we could schedule a time for me to visit?" My mother lied.

"Oh, of course! Actually, you can come by a little later when the children are about to leave."

The woman told her the time, and hung up. My mother, I'm guessing, was probably estatic.

The time came, and my mother arrived with her mother. They came up to the small steps, and knocked on the door. I wish I knew what was going through their minds, but it was probably something twisted. When the door opened, the same woman on the phone looked directly to my mom and said..

"You must be Rebecca Downing!" She was cheerful as usual, but my mother shut her off.

"No, actually I'm Laura, and I'm Brian's mother. I'm here to pick him up."

The woman hesitated, and tried to shoo my mother off. She wasn't going to take that sitting down. She pushed her way through, and grabbed Clara's arm tight. My mother fought with Clara before she gave up. I assume my grandmother took me in this time, and they fled to the car.

Clara was obviously in shock, and ran to the phone to call my father. She was very frantic, and I'm sure my father was pissed.

The bad thing about my mother signing those papers is they weren't court ordered custody papers, so whoever had me..had me.

The police were called, but there was nothing they could do. They came over to check on me, and when they found out that I was fine they left. Clara wanted to press charges for assault, and breaking and entering. she decided against it, simply because she just didn't want to get involved. I really don't blame her.

Many things have happened with the battle of custody between my parents, and eventually my mother won. She had a rough time though, and had to deal with assault charges brought against her by my father. It was all because I wasn't toilet trained well enough, but it really wasn't my fault. My mother isn't a patient person, and if something doesn't go her way, she flips out. I never learned to use the bathroom quite as quickly as I should have, but I associated pain with going to the bathroom. My mother would scream at me, and she would hurt me if I didn't use the toilet, so I began to fear it.

Well, one day I was sitting on the toilet trying to use the bathroom, and I really didn't have to go.

"Alright, but if you fucking shit your pants, Brian, I swear to God." Her voice carried evil.

I got up, and that's exactly what happened. As soon as she found out what I had done, she lost her fucking mind. I remember it very clearly. The way her ring cut through my lip, and the way the blood tasted in my mouth. She backhanded me, and she left me terrified. I cried until I couldn't breathe, and I stood there holding my face. I couldn't believe what just happened.

The way my father found out was very simple. I was young, and loved juice. When he gave me some in the car I couldn't drink it.

"Ow, I cant..." I whined.

"What's wrong?"

"My lip hurts when I try to drink it," was all I said.

My father looked at me close.

"How come?" I saw him eyeing me.

I refrained from saying anything, and I put my head down. He shook his head as if to say I love you, and I'm not going to hurt you.

"Brian, it's okay to tell me. You have to tell me what happened." He seemed a little worried about what he knew I was going to say. Maybe he wished the truth was different.

"My mommy hit me." That was it for my mother.

My father called the police, because she has struck me before. They arrested her for assault in the 3rd degree, I believe, and something involving a child. They ordered her to take anger management class, and parenting classes. My father had me, and he was finally happy again, but this didn't last long. I'm not too sure when it happened, but things took a deep turn for the worst. My father's sister, my aunt, was murdered infront of him by her own husband. My father broke down afterwards, and had to check himself into a hospital for a day, before realizing he just needed time away from things. Out the love he had for me, he turned me over to my mother for only two weeks. That's when she kicked him when he was low. She argued in court that now he was the one who was unstable, and that he couldn't take care of me. All she was doing was twisting the sick truth to her own advantage.

My mother won the custody battle, and I was hers. I don't remember being my father too much after then, because the fear of living with my mother set in. It wasn't my mother I was afraid of, it was a man named George. Lucky for me I would have the privilege to be in his rage all the time. I would become his new favorite toy; like a stress reliever. I would become his sick sexual fantasy among many other things, but worst of all..I would become his step-son.