I haven't seen my parents in over two years. They live 3000 miles away, & because of the pandemic, travel has been impossible for the past year. Well, they called last night to inform me that they're coming to spend two weeks with us in June. I'm already getting pretty anxious about it.

I've shared in the past that in the '70s & early '80s, "regular folks" didn't seek treatment for mental illness. Authoritarian (dictatorial?) parenting was also more readily accepted. Because times were different, I've always been hesitant to suggest that I was emotionally abused coming up. In retrospect, my bipolar disorder was obvious from a very young age. I was always punished in a harsh manner when episodes would rear their head...especially depressed episodes. I could excel at many things when hypo & but, when depressed, corporal punishment & abusive language was dispensed regularly. I shy away from suggesting I have PTSD, but all it takes is a sideways glance from my father & I'm filled with dread to this day.

Despite everything, I love my parents...& they're in their 80s. I don't know how many visits we have left I feel guilty about dreading their visit, but there are times when it takes a real emotional effort to survive an hour on the phone with my father. A two week visit!? Holy cow!

Anyways, I'm just venting...