I hope that I can do this. It's been awhile since I've written a blog. Writing used to be something that I loved to do. I had my 15 minutes of fame on MySpace when blogging was popular and MySpace was still alive. Then, life got crazy and MySpace died a slow, painful death and somehow I stopped writing. I signed up on this site and was confident I would blog, but I've been here almost 2 years and this is only my 4th blog. Oh well, 2013 is a New Year. Maybe it will bring New Things.
This year, 2012, was the year of "manys", for me. Many important memorials in my life.
Earlier in the year, I came to the startling realization that my two oldest daughters were 21 and 24 and I realized that they were the exact ages that I was when I had them. Wow. How different their lives are from what my life was when I was their age. Angelina was born when I was 21 and Veronica came along 3 1/2 years later when I was 24. I'll get back to them.
This year marked the 7th anniversary of the death of my father (I've always had a thing about the number 7), the 15th anniversary of the death of my mother (on my birthday, no less). It would have been the 25th anniversary of my marriage to my husband (that one really made me think) and it was the 20th anniversary of when I first became sick (and I have a whole lot to say about THAT.)
It was definitely the year of "manys".
This whole year was a year of reflection to me. Reflections on my parents. Reflections on my (failed) marriage. Reflections on my illness and reflections on my children.
I still have trouble coming to terms with the deaths of my parents. I was close to my mom, but I still feel like my dad and I never really resolved our issues and then he was gone and there were no more chances to resolve our issues. He loved me, in his own stupid way, but our relationship was never the greatest. Still, I loved my parents and no matter how challenging and sometimes, terrifying, it was growing up with the two of them, I accept that they did the best that they could and I know they loved me. I let go of my anger with them long ago. We are all flawed people and we have to love one another, despite all of our flaws.
My marriage. I can't even talk about my marriage without talking about my illness. The two are so intertwined. We had been married just 5 years and already had 2 small children when I first became sick. It was sudden and came out of nowhere. Life was beautiful and then, it wasn't. I often wonder what life would have been like had I never become sick. What would my husband and I have been like 25 years later? I suppose I will never know. There were other problems that contributed to the demise of my marriage, but me, being so sick, for so long was more than he could handle. 8 years after I became sick, I was still as sick as I ever was and he couldn't take anymore, so there it was. Another one bites the dust.
Reflections on my illness? I can't even speak about my life without speaking about my illness because this is who I am. A few more years and I will have spent more of my life as a woman with a terrible illness than as a woman in control. My heart broke a thousand times a day as the years went by and doctor after doctor failed to figure out what was wrong with me. Angelina was 5 when I first got sick. She had to endure so much, at such a young age. She could still remember a mom who didn't always lay around the house and cry and who didn't lock herself away in the room for days at a time and who wasn't scared all the time and crippled by anxiety, delusions and paranoia. She remembered a mom who cooked and cleaned and took care of her and her sister and loved them. Sick didn't seem like love and inside I was dying. Veronica was not yet 2 years old when I got sick. She had no memory of me before I was sick. That haunted me as the years went by. Sick was normal to her.
15 years went by before I finally received the diagnosis that would give me a small piece of my life back, but the things that were stolen from me during those 15 years can never be replaced. I hate that I lost those years and the time I should have been spending raising my children and being a wife and mother, but...
As I mentioned, this year, the year of "manys" started out for me with the realization that my two oldest daughters were 21 and 24 when this year started out.
How different their lives at 21 and 24 are from how mine was at their age.
Angelina is a determined young woman and she has been successful with life. She graduated from college. She's an amazing cook and a wonderful wife. She is married to a man who adores her and who is an amazing husband to her. They both have good jobs. They just bought their first home and in time, there will be grandchildren. They are successful and they are happy. They have a beautiful life together.
Veronica is in her senior year at college. She is driven, focused, successful, passionate about what she believes and compassionate. She has been a relationship with a nice man, who respects her and treats her well for the past 2 years. She plans to come home and work and get her Masters. She has a beautiful life.
Reflecting on the deaths of my parents has always brought me to the realization that life is precious and shorter than any of us dare to think or believe. Love the ones you have and let go of the angry things and the hurtful things. Talk to the people you love because you will miss them when they are gone and when there are no more chances to talk to them.
Reflecting on my illness always brings me back to the realization that life is incredibly fragile and unpredictable and that can change in an instant. Be thankful for what you have. Don't ever take it for granted because what you have today, may not be what you have tomorrow.
Farewell, Year of "Manys". Thank you for the things that you taught me.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I'm Not Crazy. You're The One Who's Crazy.
If I had a dollar for every time some poor, uninformed person tried to talk to me about clinical depression, anxiety or, in my own personal case, bipolar disorder, Warren Buffett would look at my money and be sad.
It seems that when the topic of mental illness arises, inevitably two things happen: certain people (who have it) sometimes feel ashamed and other people (who don't have it) act uncomfortable.
What's with all the shame and discomfort? If I say that I have bipolar disorder, it's not as though I've just stood up in church and announced to God (who, I'm guessing would have already gotten the memo) and everybody that I have syphilis, right? I mean, maybe there's something to be ashamed of in that and maybe there is reason for people to feel uncomfortable around you.
Realistically speaking, having bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or clinical depression or anxiety, etc. is no more shameful than having a brain tumor or a bad case of hives. It's an illness. No one asks to get it and unlike diseases such as diabetes or lung cancer, there isn't even anything you can attempt to do to prevent it. Sucks to be crazy, huh?
As I mentioned and for the record, I have bipolar disorder. What this means is that I swing back and forth between depression and mania. When I am depressed, I cry a lot. I feel very down. I feel sad. I feel hopeless. I have no motivation. Everything seems pointless. Sometimes I want to die, but I don't necessarily want to kill myself (there's a big difference.) When I am manic and if I am lucky, I sometimes feel like I can conquer the world and I make all kinds of plans, but rarely follow-through. More often, though I become extremely agitated and anything sensory (light, sound, touch) will make me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I become reckless and can spend too much money or do risky things that I would not ordinarily do. And just for fun, sometimes, I can be manic and depressed at the same time. That's what's known as a "mixed-episode", boys and girls. Sounds crazy right?
So what should YOU do if someone you know has a mental illness and they've either trusted you enough to share their "shameful", little secret with you or, because you live with them/are close to them and it's 2 in the morning and they haven't slept for 4 days and are re-potting all the house plants, you've kind of figured it out on your own?
Better than what SHOULD do/say, I'll stick to a list of "don'ts".
First of all, unless you, yourself, have a severe mental illness, don't judge because you can't wrap your mind around this. Ever. Period.
Here is a short list of things (you're probably saying to yourself, "this is short!??!"), I have had said to me or have heard other people say about their relatives who have mental illnesses and what I think of their ignorance:
1 - You just need to snap out of it and try harder.
This is utter nonsense and ignorance, straight up. NO ONE would deliberately CHOOSE this life and if it were so easy to just "snap out of it" then EVERYONE would do it! You can't snap out of a mental illness any easier than you can snap out of a broken leg. (See what I did there?) When was the last time you told a cancer patient to "snap out of it?" Hm.
2 - If he/she just took their medication they would be fine.
It's really easy for those of you who are sane to say that. Let me explain something to you: Medications suck (and before you go off and say "being crazy sucks worse", just shhh...listen.)
Here are just a few of the side-effects I've experienced on the dozens of medications I've been on: bruising on my entire body, itching all over my body, vivid nightmares, extreme sleepiness (to the point of having to pull over and stop on the side of the road and sleep), bloating so severe I could barely breathe, extreme fatigue and thirst, weight gains of 20-50 pounds (Lithium destroyed my metabolism and I've never been able to recover from that), suicidal thoughts (I thought you said this was supposed to make me NOT want to die, Doctor?) and the need to pee every 15-20 minutes. Good times.
My current medications come with a risk of seizures (never had one, thank God), brain zaps (these are hard to explain), anxiety (cuz I don't have enough of THAT), thirst, headache and the possibility of severe electrolyte imbalance (this one can kill you, kids) and on top of all this, since I was misdiagnosed as clinically depressed for 15 years, I was being fed medications that actually continually caused me to become manic because I was, in reality, bipolar. Thank you, doctors.
Now all of that being said, side-effects DO suck, but in general, being crazy DOES suck worse (happy now?), so me, personally, I'll take my medications and thank you very much, however...If someone needs to be on medication and they are not, you being an asshole toward them isn't going to change one, single thing. They're sick.
You cannot reason with, talk to or argue with a brain disorder and if you think that you can, you're the one who's crazy.
Don't get pissed off at us. We know we suck when we're sick, we don't need you to constantly remind us and we may be so sick that we are unable to make a rational decision to get back on medications. This is NOT our fault, so don't treat us as if we were less than. The only difference between me and you is that your brain functions "normally" and mine does not for some unknown, but biologically based reason.
There is something else you should know about medications. News flash: They aren't a cure-all (that's for those of you who think your relative with depression/bipolar disorder, etc. would be a peach to live with if they'd only take mind-altering medications.) Every day, for the rest of my life, I will always, let me repeat, always experience low to mid-grade symptoms of depression and mania. The medications just allow me to function somewhat more normally. And guess what? Medications don't always prevent a relapse. That means I can be being a good, little girl and taking my 4-6 pills a day (depending on my anxiety level) and if enough stress, lack of sleep, change, freeway trips come along, I can start to get sick again and no amount of medication in the world will stop it or fix it, until I've train wrecked myself and either landed in the hospital or an intensive outpatient program (known as IOP.)
3 - It'll be ok. You'll feel better once you (get a job, fix your relationship problems, find your missing hamster.)
Partially true, but not what you're thinking. As I have mentioned, a mental illness is a biological illness and while things like the stress of losing your job, your relationship or your hamster can aggravate your condition, it doesn't magically go away once the stress of the moment is gone.
4 - We all have our down days. I was sad when I lost my job/my boyfriend/my guinea pig.
Don't. Just don't. It's not the same thing. I'm not sad. I'm not down. Ok, well I am, but it's not because Fluffy, the hamster, is missing. I have an illness. You just felt like crap for awhile, but you got over it. I won't ever get over this. I will be the way for the rest of my life. You try living with THAT in your head.
To wrap this up and I know it was long and it looks like I'm going to go on for (counting...) 11 more paragraphs before I shut up, I want to muse about the past few weeks. They've been rough.
I feel like I'm on a 2 year-plan with this illness. I first became sick in 1992 and I was desperately sick. In 2007 (which was when I finally got my accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder), I was so wrecked that I had to stop working for a time, go on disability and I landed back in IOP (again).
I got sick again in 2009 and overdosed once, was hospitalized twice and due to some truly ridiculous family drama, CPS got involved in my life and the life of my youngest daughter. She had to live with her Uncle for 9 months (thank, God that she could - I will always love him and be thankful to him for caring enough to take her in and not wanting her to be with complete strangers, rotting in some foster home.)
It's 2012 and even though my rational mind knows relapse is not inevitable, I'm feeling like my relapse is overdue, lurking around the corner. For months, I've been having sleeping issues and that's always a bad thing with bipolar disorder. I'm getting more and more sad and depressed and feeling more and more hopeless and that life is pointless. The living room and my bedroom are a mess and Y and I have been wearing clothes out of baskets and off the floor for weeks and weeks. Most nights, I make Y something simple to eat and I skip dinner altogether. Thank God she gets a to-go breakfast in the morning and eats lunch at school. Weekends are a little tougher, but we get by and she always gets fed, even if I choose not to eat because the thought of preparing something for both of us is just too overwhelming. I still go to work every day and it takes everything I have to get there and do my job. There is nothing leftover at the end of the day.
I had a very frank conversation with my middle daughter, V, a few nights ago. Of my 3 girls, she is probably the one who "gets it" the most. My oldest isn't there yet, but I guess we all travel this road in our own way and I know she loves me, even if she hates my illness and its after-math. My youngest is, obviously, too young to understand, but she is still affected and that breaks my heart in a way that no well person can understand.
I told V that I am tired. I am so tired of fighting this monster (here come the tears.) This year marks two decades since I first became ill. I spent the first 15 of those years incorrectly diagnosed and utterly miserable.
I hate that the person I was before bipolar disorder stole my life is gone forever. Yes. We all change over the years, this is true, but before I got sick, life was different. My house was clean. I cooked 3 meals a day. I was never "behind" on laundry. I went to the gym 6 times a week. I had a lot of energy, I was motivated and I was always the type to get "just one more thing" done before I moved on to the next. I never got to see who I might have become had bipolar disorder not handed me a life sentence.
Bipolar disorder contributed to the destruction of my marriage. It destroyed the years I should have spent, happily watching my children grow up. There are entire years of their lives and important events in their lives that I can't even remember. This is painful. I vividly recall A's first day of pre-school. I can't remember V's at all. I can remember V's high school graduation with absolute clarity. I cannot remember A's at all. These are the things that bipolar disorder steals from you when it decides to move in. Your life, your memories, your happiness.
I'm really just very tired. I can be aware of my illness when I'm in this particular state, but there are times when it spirals out of control and becomes so bad that I forget that I'm bipolar. I forget that I need to eat, to sleep, to stick to a routine and a schedule. That's when things like swallowing handfuls of Xanax with vodka happen. Well, that's the extreme example of what happened last time, though, I hope never to repeat that. I remember feeling so tired then, too. I didn't want to kill myself; I just wanted the pain to stop and I wanted to sleep and I couldn't seem to make either thing happen.
We are reckless when we are manic. We make bad decisions. We don't think about the consequences. I can still recall my daughter, V's, voice cracking the day after I overdosed and I called her from the hospital. She choked up as she started to tell me she was so glad I was ok. Yes my nemesis, bipolar disorder, you have stolen many things from me, but that is one memory that you haven't taken and never will. Maybe there's a reason for that.
So pray for me, dear family and friends and try to understand that when I'm like this, I really don't mean to be. I try hard to hide it and not burden you with it, but I know it seeps through the cracks and on occasion, crashes through the walls.
For many years, and not just due to having bipolar disorder, I have considered this to be my life's theme song. Enjoy.
It seems that when the topic of mental illness arises, inevitably two things happen: certain people (who have it) sometimes feel ashamed and other people (who don't have it) act uncomfortable.
What's with all the shame and discomfort? If I say that I have bipolar disorder, it's not as though I've just stood up in church and announced to God (who, I'm guessing would have already gotten the memo) and everybody that I have syphilis, right? I mean, maybe there's something to be ashamed of in that and maybe there is reason for people to feel uncomfortable around you.
Realistically speaking, having bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or clinical depression or anxiety, etc. is no more shameful than having a brain tumor or a bad case of hives. It's an illness. No one asks to get it and unlike diseases such as diabetes or lung cancer, there isn't even anything you can attempt to do to prevent it. Sucks to be crazy, huh?
As I mentioned and for the record, I have bipolar disorder. What this means is that I swing back and forth between depression and mania. When I am depressed, I cry a lot. I feel very down. I feel sad. I feel hopeless. I have no motivation. Everything seems pointless. Sometimes I want to die, but I don't necessarily want to kill myself (there's a big difference.) When I am manic and if I am lucky, I sometimes feel like I can conquer the world and I make all kinds of plans, but rarely follow-through. More often, though I become extremely agitated and anything sensory (light, sound, touch) will make me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I become reckless and can spend too much money or do risky things that I would not ordinarily do. And just for fun, sometimes, I can be manic and depressed at the same time. That's what's known as a "mixed-episode", boys and girls. Sounds crazy right?
So what should YOU do if someone you know has a mental illness and they've either trusted you enough to share their "shameful", little secret with you or, because you live with them/are close to them and it's 2 in the morning and they haven't slept for 4 days and are re-potting all the house plants, you've kind of figured it out on your own?
Better than what SHOULD do/say, I'll stick to a list of "don'ts".
First of all, unless you, yourself, have a severe mental illness, don't judge because you can't wrap your mind around this. Ever. Period.
Here is a short list of things (you're probably saying to yourself, "this is short!??!"), I have had said to me or have heard other people say about their relatives who have mental illnesses and what I think of their ignorance:
1 - You just need to snap out of it and try harder.
This is utter nonsense and ignorance, straight up. NO ONE would deliberately CHOOSE this life and if it were so easy to just "snap out of it" then EVERYONE would do it! You can't snap out of a mental illness any easier than you can snap out of a broken leg. (See what I did there?) When was the last time you told a cancer patient to "snap out of it?" Hm.
2 - If he/she just took their medication they would be fine.
It's really easy for those of you who are sane to say that. Let me explain something to you: Medications suck (and before you go off and say "being crazy sucks worse", just shhh...listen.)
Here are just a few of the side-effects I've experienced on the dozens of medications I've been on: bruising on my entire body, itching all over my body, vivid nightmares, extreme sleepiness (to the point of having to pull over and stop on the side of the road and sleep), bloating so severe I could barely breathe, extreme fatigue and thirst, weight gains of 20-50 pounds (Lithium destroyed my metabolism and I've never been able to recover from that), suicidal thoughts (I thought you said this was supposed to make me NOT want to die, Doctor?) and the need to pee every 15-20 minutes. Good times.
My current medications come with a risk of seizures (never had one, thank God), brain zaps (these are hard to explain), anxiety (cuz I don't have enough of THAT), thirst, headache and the possibility of severe electrolyte imbalance (this one can kill you, kids) and on top of all this, since I was misdiagnosed as clinically depressed for 15 years, I was being fed medications that actually continually caused me to become manic because I was, in reality, bipolar. Thank you, doctors.
Now all of that being said, side-effects DO suck, but in general, being crazy DOES suck worse (happy now?), so me, personally, I'll take my medications and thank you very much, however...If someone needs to be on medication and they are not, you being an asshole toward them isn't going to change one, single thing. They're sick.
You cannot reason with, talk to or argue with a brain disorder and if you think that you can, you're the one who's crazy.
Don't get pissed off at us. We know we suck when we're sick, we don't need you to constantly remind us and we may be so sick that we are unable to make a rational decision to get back on medications. This is NOT our fault, so don't treat us as if we were less than. The only difference between me and you is that your brain functions "normally" and mine does not for some unknown, but biologically based reason.
There is something else you should know about medications. News flash: They aren't a cure-all (that's for those of you who think your relative with depression/bipolar disorder, etc. would be a peach to live with if they'd only take mind-altering medications.) Every day, for the rest of my life, I will always, let me repeat, always experience low to mid-grade symptoms of depression and mania. The medications just allow me to function somewhat more normally. And guess what? Medications don't always prevent a relapse. That means I can be being a good, little girl and taking my 4-6 pills a day (depending on my anxiety level) and if enough stress, lack of sleep, change, freeway trips come along, I can start to get sick again and no amount of medication in the world will stop it or fix it, until I've train wrecked myself and either landed in the hospital or an intensive outpatient program (known as IOP.)
3 - It'll be ok. You'll feel better once you (get a job, fix your relationship problems, find your missing hamster.)
Partially true, but not what you're thinking. As I have mentioned, a mental illness is a biological illness and while things like the stress of losing your job, your relationship or your hamster can aggravate your condition, it doesn't magically go away once the stress of the moment is gone.
4 - We all have our down days. I was sad when I lost my job/my boyfriend/my guinea pig.
Don't. Just don't. It's not the same thing. I'm not sad. I'm not down. Ok, well I am, but it's not because Fluffy, the hamster, is missing. I have an illness. You just felt like crap for awhile, but you got over it. I won't ever get over this. I will be the way for the rest of my life. You try living with THAT in your head.
To wrap this up and I know it was long and it looks like I'm going to go on for (counting...) 11 more paragraphs before I shut up, I want to muse about the past few weeks. They've been rough.
I feel like I'm on a 2 year-plan with this illness. I first became sick in 1992 and I was desperately sick. In 2007 (which was when I finally got my accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder), I was so wrecked that I had to stop working for a time, go on disability and I landed back in IOP (again).
I got sick again in 2009 and overdosed once, was hospitalized twice and due to some truly ridiculous family drama, CPS got involved in my life and the life of my youngest daughter. She had to live with her Uncle for 9 months (thank, God that she could - I will always love him and be thankful to him for caring enough to take her in and not wanting her to be with complete strangers, rotting in some foster home.)
It's 2012 and even though my rational mind knows relapse is not inevitable, I'm feeling like my relapse is overdue, lurking around the corner. For months, I've been having sleeping issues and that's always a bad thing with bipolar disorder. I'm getting more and more sad and depressed and feeling more and more hopeless and that life is pointless. The living room and my bedroom are a mess and Y and I have been wearing clothes out of baskets and off the floor for weeks and weeks. Most nights, I make Y something simple to eat and I skip dinner altogether. Thank God she gets a to-go breakfast in the morning and eats lunch at school. Weekends are a little tougher, but we get by and she always gets fed, even if I choose not to eat because the thought of preparing something for both of us is just too overwhelming. I still go to work every day and it takes everything I have to get there and do my job. There is nothing leftover at the end of the day.
I had a very frank conversation with my middle daughter, V, a few nights ago. Of my 3 girls, she is probably the one who "gets it" the most. My oldest isn't there yet, but I guess we all travel this road in our own way and I know she loves me, even if she hates my illness and its after-math. My youngest is, obviously, too young to understand, but she is still affected and that breaks my heart in a way that no well person can understand.
I told V that I am tired. I am so tired of fighting this monster (here come the tears.) This year marks two decades since I first became ill. I spent the first 15 of those years incorrectly diagnosed and utterly miserable.
I hate that the person I was before bipolar disorder stole my life is gone forever. Yes. We all change over the years, this is true, but before I got sick, life was different. My house was clean. I cooked 3 meals a day. I was never "behind" on laundry. I went to the gym 6 times a week. I had a lot of energy, I was motivated and I was always the type to get "just one more thing" done before I moved on to the next. I never got to see who I might have become had bipolar disorder not handed me a life sentence.
Bipolar disorder contributed to the destruction of my marriage. It destroyed the years I should have spent, happily watching my children grow up. There are entire years of their lives and important events in their lives that I can't even remember. This is painful. I vividly recall A's first day of pre-school. I can't remember V's at all. I can remember V's high school graduation with absolute clarity. I cannot remember A's at all. These are the things that bipolar disorder steals from you when it decides to move in. Your life, your memories, your happiness.
I'm really just very tired. I can be aware of my illness when I'm in this particular state, but there are times when it spirals out of control and becomes so bad that I forget that I'm bipolar. I forget that I need to eat, to sleep, to stick to a routine and a schedule. That's when things like swallowing handfuls of Xanax with vodka happen. Well, that's the extreme example of what happened last time, though, I hope never to repeat that. I remember feeling so tired then, too. I didn't want to kill myself; I just wanted the pain to stop and I wanted to sleep and I couldn't seem to make either thing happen.
We are reckless when we are manic. We make bad decisions. We don't think about the consequences. I can still recall my daughter, V's, voice cracking the day after I overdosed and I called her from the hospital. She choked up as she started to tell me she was so glad I was ok. Yes my nemesis, bipolar disorder, you have stolen many things from me, but that is one memory that you haven't taken and never will. Maybe there's a reason for that.
For many years, and not just due to having bipolar disorder, I have considered this to be my life's theme song. Enjoy.
Monday, November 28, 2011
A Letter to my "Neighbors"
Dear Neighborhood Douchebags:
Thanks so much for keeping me awake with your pointless fighting last night. The broken glass was an especially nice touch.
You owe me a Lunesta. There is a twenty minute window within which it will either work or not work. That window was disrupted by your asshattery and guess who had to get up early this morning and go to work on about 5 hours of sleep?
Now, I wouldn't expect you to understand the concept of having to go somewhere every day and earn a paycheck when you clearly have much better things to do, such as fight, break glass, hurl racial epithets and have the police summoned in order to teach you how to behave, but in the future, it would be nice if you could take pause for a moment of reflection before you disturb the peace and ask yourself, "Will my neighbor enjoy what am I about to do?" If the answer is no, please take your drunk ass home and go to bed.
One other thing, the next time you decide that a fight sounds like a mature, responsible adult decision, please have your wives/girlfriends/baby mamas, etc. take the children INSIDE the house BEFORE you start slinging the F word and breaking bottles. Kids shouldn't have to see or hear things like that. That would be great. Thanks.
Best Regards,
Your Tired as Hell Neighbor in Apt. 4
Thanks so much for keeping me awake with your pointless fighting last night. The broken glass was an especially nice touch.
You owe me a Lunesta. There is a twenty minute window within which it will either work or not work. That window was disrupted by your asshattery and guess who had to get up early this morning and go to work on about 5 hours of sleep?
Now, I wouldn't expect you to understand the concept of having to go somewhere every day and earn a paycheck when you clearly have much better things to do, such as fight, break glass, hurl racial epithets and have the police summoned in order to teach you how to behave, but in the future, it would be nice if you could take pause for a moment of reflection before you disturb the peace and ask yourself, "Will my neighbor enjoy what am I about to do?" If the answer is no, please take your drunk ass home and go to bed.
One other thing, the next time you decide that a fight sounds like a mature, responsible adult decision, please have your wives/girlfriends/baby mamas, etc. take the children INSIDE the house BEFORE you start slinging the F word and breaking bottles. Kids shouldn't have to see or hear things like that. That would be great. Thanks.
Best Regards,
Your Tired as Hell Neighbor in Apt. 4
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