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Page 2
But it started with my expectations that through hot pursuit I could recapture the magic of my childhood, and it was so unfair to her and to the children, who just wanted to have fun.
Even as I sat there crying, and my children silently ate their oatmeal cookies, the thought came to my mind that if I can't be a friend to anyone I wanted to die. My mother had a wonderful skill for making family of friends. I don't have that skill. It creates loneliness and isolation. I don't know how to stop the cycle of attracting friends through my effervescent (read: hypomanic) personality, and then losing them either through the isolating effects of depression, or the agitation of angry mania. We're still friends; we apologized; we even had a fun day at the beach the next day. The next day the winds died down, the sun came up, and the sparkling, calm lake was magic again. My friends, they try to understand my bipolar disorder, but they don't; they can't. Maybe I need to give Friendship House another try.
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