What a Day, Eh?

"What? C'mon! Are you a pussy?"

The words are etched into my brain. Not because I was berated myself but because I actually uttered these words to my then fourteen-year-old son as I proudly brandished my newly purchased 16-inch Bowie knife.

"C'mon, just hold it. It's cool!"

But it was the sentence before that remains etched into his brain as the defining characteristic of the father he didn't know anymore.

I often write, joke and bandy about the condition rambling around in my head. Bi-Polar, Manic-depression, whatever you want to call it. I usually try to justify each and every past action in my life that resulted in consequences that haunt me based upon my condition. Sure, I still have no clue why I was tossed out of one establishment, punched a wall and to this day have a broken finger. I understand that high doses of anti-depressants mixed with alcohol can have a quite humbling effect in the morning when you wake up on the floor of a jail cell in a bright orange suit and some dude staring at you like the next meal.

But, there is only one instance that replays in my mind as the one in which I lost my best friend, my best buddy, my son. "What? C'mon! Are you a pussy?"

Today I went, alone, to my son's high school graduation ceremony. He had no idea that I was there or was even going to be there. In fact, I labored over the idea of going at all. My son has no interest in me, in having a relationship with me or at the very least returning a text. In my eyes, my son, my former best friend, hates me with a passion... a passion fueled by both a condition he doesn't understand (nor do I, entirely), and a former family that views me as a hindrance.

As I sat in the auditorium, just three rows behind my former wife, her family, my daughter and newcomers to the brood, I didn't feel anger or resentment. Even I was shocked at that revelation. What I felt was remorse at alienating a boy without having any idea that I'd even done so.

I read emails each day from people who also suffer from bi-polar disorder and I get angry at the 'poor pitiful me' 'boo-hoo' attitudes that most bring to a wide audience. Know what? Grow a pair and deal with it. I understand it's difficult. Most days, I regret at least one thing I've said or done during the day. Depression is as defeating as mania is elating. The difference is that mania brings on the 'I'm invincible, I can do, say or act as I please... damn the consequences' mindset. This is where I was when I uttered "What? C'mon! Are you a pussy?" to my son.

I can't take the words back. Nor can I take back the tear I shed when his name was called and he crossed the stage to be handed his diploma. For the first fourteen years of his life, I helped mold him into the man he is today. And even the sentence I uttered some four years ago that is etched into his brain has made him stronger in some way, even at the expense of our relationship. But, I can't help but wonder where we would be if my mouth, mind and actions didn't succumb to the mania within me.

Congratulations on your graduation, Avery. I hope that one day you'll see that I'm not the monster I'm portrayed to be by others and that a brief moment in time, be it days, weeks or months, doesn't erase the bond that you and I once shared and hopefully will one day regain.

You're my best buddy. I'm always here for you. No matter what. Love ya, man.