From Dust (Part One)

This little picture popped into my social media feed a couple days ago:


I read over it, had a little chuckle and then a complete meltdown. Just like that. Well, almost. I’ve got some stress in my life, sure, but nothing I hadn’t been handling. And all it took was one little capture of a tumblr post and suddenly I began to notice some insecurities.

I’ve been having a really hard time sleeping lately. I stay up til dawn, get up a little before noon and repeat. It isn’t that I’m not tired, it’s that I’m too tired. And the same thoughts eat away at my insides, day after day. I eat less and less each day, I drink more-mostly water and caffeinated beverages, as I try to stay away from alcohol. I’m trying to get into a new schedule to prepare for school. But it’s summer, and I’m dealing. That’s what I do, after all.

And how ashamed am I, that my walls could cave because of a picture I took a little too personally!

I was making a chess set yesterday, couldn’t get it to look professional and scrapped the entire thing. Deleted every story I had started, because I didn’t believe they were going to get me anywhere. Threw out several drawings I’d made because I couldn’t look at them anymore. Spent an entire day shuffling through music because I couldn’t find the joy in my songs.

And that was the tip off that I wasn’t in a good place.

I used to get in trouble as a kid quite often because I couldn’t deal with silence so I would hum. It’s gotten me warned during tests, it’s gotten me picked on and laughed at. But ever since I can remember, music has been my fortress. If I could sing, if I could hum, the darkness would not get to me. No matter if I was manic or depressed, music saved me. And yet, I was silent.

So while I laid in bed waiting for the moment I’d fall asleep, I fell into a depression instead. 

Every single thing I’d ever made, crafted, involved myself in or otherwise attempted artistically came into question. And I found myself completely and utterly ashamed. I thought I’d listen to an almost-out album by some of the members of Supernatural’s cast (Jason Manns-Covers With Friends) and immediately started crying. I was listening to beautiful music created by ultra talented individuals who had careers doing what they loved and were successful at. 

And I didn’t feel like I had any worth at all.

I’ve gotten rejected from everything artistic I’ve tried.

I auditioned for the school of music when I started college. Rejected.

I wrote a novel! And sent it to agents. Rejected.

I wrote another novel and sent that one in to agents. Rejected.

I wrote a children’s book. Sent it in to agents. Rejected.

I tried my hand at slam poetry for a scholarship. Rejected.

Tried to sell homemade soaps, lotions, and even offered to make theme songs for a buck. Rejected.

I tried to tell myself that it didn’t sting. That there was something bigger and better waiting for me ahead. That the doors that were closing were only doing so so that I’d keep my “eyes on the prize”.

I don’t believe my own bullshit anymore.

I’m trying not to get my hopes up for the President’s Prize. Because the odds are against me. I’m trying not to get my hopes up for law school. Because the odds are against me. But I don’t know where that exactly leaves me and I guess that maybe that’s part of the problem.

The way my life worked out in my head is that I would go to law school, become a lawyer. I’d write books on the side so I could make my student loan payments and afford the things I can’t right now. When all my debts were settled, I thought I’d use my skills to work my way up the system and make a real difference in the world. 

But what skills do I even have? I’m absolutely ordinary. And that hurts more than it should. I say the words “I know I’m just one person” more often than I probably need to but I don’t think I’ve ever really believed it. I’ve always believed I could change the world.

But can I? Is that something which is simply unattainable for me? Is it reserved for the beautiful people, the people with connections and money? The people who don’t have to worry about how to cover bills, what’s useable from the discount carts? The people who are whole? Without an illness?

I came face to face with my own reality and I can’t accept it. I can’t accept that I feel so deeply, care so much and see so much beauty and pain all for nothing. And yet, that’s my reality. That’s my life. 

And it hurts so fucking much.

(Part Two coming tomorrow. See how the story resolves then.)

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Look So Tired

(The title is a song by Landon Pigg-I think it’s phenomenal, just not the one I’m focusing on today. It deals with the same kinda thing though.) There’s a song (a kinda old song) called Comes and Goes in Waves by Greg Laswell. I’ve been working through life and this song brought with it some of the lessons I’ve learned over the past couple months and years.

This one’s for the lonely, the one’s that seek and find
Only to be let down time after time
This one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall
Come on friends, get up now, you’re not alone at all.

The song starts out with these words and I am immediately drawn in. I’ve been in such a funk lately. It speaks to me of destiny, of the path I am on, they way that I feel lost and hopeless in the face of recent tragedies. The way I feel overwhelmed by how much need there is in the world.

And this part was for her (3x)
Does she remember?
It comes and goes in waves

This is the way depression and anxiety are to me. It comes. It goes. And I struggle to remember that it isn’t always dark skies and sadness.

This one’s for the faithless, the ones that are surprised
They’re only where they are now regardless of their fight
This one’s for believing if only for it’s sake
Come on friends get up now love is to be made

This is the part of the song I connect with on a personal level. I feel like I fight so hard, just to keep myself afloat and it’s all I can do to remind myself that it will be okay-even if I don’t believe it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at where I am and can’t seem to rationalize it against how hard I’ve struggled just to get there.

It comes and goes in waves, I
Am only led to wonder why
It comes in goes in waves, I
Am only led to wonder why
Why I, why I try

I hear these words and nod my head. I want to help the world, but I feel so minuscule in my attempts. I feel like a single grain of sand in an entire shore of beach.

This is for the ones who stand
For the ones who think they can
For the ones who need a hand
For the ones who try again

This is the remembrance of my goals. I wake each day to rediscover how much I have to give to the world. How much capacity I have within me to make it a better place than I found it.

worthyI’ve been hard at work on a project I will unveil to you this week, along with the premise of why I’ve been working on it so fervently. But for now, I want to look at the way I’ve experienced my own work.

I know I will succeed. I know that because I simply have no other option. Even so, the big huge shadow of insecurity grips me tightly. I stood in front of the mirror last night and had a heart to heart with myself. I know I’ve shared this quote before, but this is essentially what I said to myself and it’s pretty damned important.

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I’m alive. I’m fighting. And I will always keep fighting. I take things personally, I emote-with exceptional capability. I’m human. But in the end, the world is always going to say that I am not enough. That I am not right, not perfect, not this or that. It shouldn’t affect me at all. But it does. And that’s alright. What bothers me is that at some point I was taught that I should say those things to myself as well. I mean, holy crap what even is that?

I had to take time out of my day, right before I went to bed just to reassure myself that I was enough. That I was worthy of love, of respect, of everything I’ve worked towards. I had to look myself in the eyes and remind myself that I am enough of a person to live an unapologetic life. I am worthy of acceptance, of happiness, even when I cannot see that for myself. I am a human being and I am enough to make a difference. I am enough.

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Those words shouldn’t need to be spoken in a whisper through tears. They should be standard issue. Instead, it’s an uphill battle against society. Your worth is determined by numbers on a scale, numbers in your bank account, numbers of followers and likes and retweets. Your worth is determined by people who don’t even know you, your struggle, your thoughts and heart. You are judged before you even leave the womb and you have to fight to claim your worth beyond selfies and eating disorders and lies.

I first felt that pressure when I was in fifth grade and hadn’t started shaving my legs yet. I was 10 and I got made fun of. Then I remember being told that I’d be worth dating if I were 20 pounds lighter. Then I made the joke that you could see my ribs, so I knew I was on the right path. I was 13. Then I couldn’t understand why I hated myself and my arms will forever remain an invisible zebra. I was 14. I thought I would be better off dead. I was 15. I turned to energy drinks as a way to fight off the nightmares and in the process I damaged my kidneys (to the point of shutting down). I was 18.

I’m twenty three. I’ve been fighting with myself for over a decade. HALF OF MY LIFE I have hated the person staring at me from the mirror. I can’t say that it’s been a perfect year, but I think it’s important to look at the path I took to get here. I’m fighting my hardest. And each day comes and goes in waves. I’m just swimming about, keeping my head above water. And I think there’s something beautiful about that.

I-Am-Enough.jpgAnyway, You’re probably wondering what it is that I’m even saying today. The Campbell’s soup (condensed) version? I didn’t want to write a post about my problems but I saw a video of an interview with Jared Padalecki who said the words “I didn’t want to talk about my sadness because I thought it would make everyone else worse. Instead, I found solidarity.” ( I paraphrased.)

So if you’re struggling today, I’m in that ocean with you. And we’ll make it out alive, we just have to keep fighting.

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Return of the Well, Me.

Alrighty. I’ve been hard at work determining my life and reevaluating my choices. I’ve been working on a project proposal which might blow people’s minds and I’m so close. I’m so close to living the life I couldn’t have imagine when I was in high school. I’m so close to living the life that I doubted I’d ever lead when I entered college. And I have something to say. (But when don’t I?)

Ahem.Here goes.

“So. I am enough. And you are enough. And I wanted to really stress that. Sometimes even though I, I know I can keep fighting and I know I’m trying to love myself, it’s sometimes the feeling that you feel like you’re not enough, right? And so this message is helping me kind of understand that I am enough-just the way I was made. I’m trying to be the best person I can be. And you’re enough too. So I know sometimes you feel like you can’t fight, and I know sometimes you feel like you just can’t love yourself and when that happens I want you to remember that you’re enough. You’re enough as you are. And I’ll try to remember that I’m enough as I am.”

-Jared Padalecki, 20 June 2016

I am enough

(This is the shirt for his campaign-the proceeds go to OneOrlando and Equality Florida’s Pulse Victim Fund–straight to the people who need it most right now. Buy here: I Am Enough Campaign) I listened to that man speak those words probably fifteen times as I watched the video, trying to make sure I got every word right. (And then I watch it because I love it.) Because the message is more important than I think nearly anything else is. It doesn’t matter what religion (if any!) you partake in, your status in life, your geography, anything. These words are just right. (If you wanna watch the clip, I posted it on my tumblr: I Am Enough Mantra)

I’m a huge fan of Supernatural for more reasons than just the great writing and acting. Mr. Collins, Mr. Ackles and Mr. Padalecki are such fantastic role models (as well as many of the female costars) and they each have ties to the mental health struggles (social anxiety, depression and self-harm amongst them). This speech was given as part of a live stream on Facebook  and before I get away with myself, let me just say it is one of my aspirations to work with someone like him (and them) in the future.

I am enough.

Those words don’t get passed around enough. Especially to ourselves. I told my husband last night that I think two things each and every day.

  1. How am I possibly good enough to live the life I have planned?
  2. I got this. Let’s kick some ass.

And you know what? That’s not because of self-esteem. The second thought is a lifestyle choice. I have to tell it to myself because I sometimes forget. I don’t have to be the one who changes the world each day. I just have to try. I am enough.

I made a difference to that one.

And so, even though I haven’t started it *yet*, I wanted to let you all know that I’m going to start a YouTube channel about body positivity, body safety and empowerment. It’s going to be like a companion to this blog. This is where all my personal articles of news will occur, but if you want to see my sparkly teeth and sassy attitude in “person”, then look no further!

Time May Change Me

I feel like I need to step away from the facts, the stats, the in-your-face business for a minute (just a minute) and speak about my own life. I don’t mean that in an egotistical way, I just want to document some things before I get back to being a loud-and-proud feminism activist.

I’ve been working on a project, which has the potential to be the biggest, most life changing project I may ever get the chance to be a part of-and as soon as I get the proposal submitted, I’ll tell you all about it. I’m sure you can guess-it’s got lots of caffeine inspiration and some very epic ideas for change and a brighter future.

I like to think of myself as an introvert inside an extrovert’s body. I really like to hang out with a limited amount of people-but my goals and aspirations require me to be very upfront and outspoken to large masses of people. It’s a lot of stress for one person. That stress translates to weight issues. I mean, I’m not really upset by it anymore-because I only get one body and the more I understand myself and my destiny, the less I hate who I am (funny how that works)-but this whole anxious person hits a wall when it comes to that very topic.

I want to workout. I want to swim everyday, I want to work on my core muscles and maybe even do a little boxing or something that’s useful as self-defense. But. I don’t want anyone to see me do it, or to help me. I’m only just learning how to love myself but that doesn’t mean my self-esteem has been built up yet. I don’t have workout clothes, can’t afford to go out and get any, and even if I did, I have no idea how to use the equipment. All of that, combined with me having a real issue with going new places, being surrounded by people I don’t know and not liking to appear stupid means that the gym is not place for Michelle. And the swimming pool? There are beautiful people with golden tans who make me look-and feel-like a big albino elephant. I’m not saying that for sympathy. I know that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent.
And running? I think not. If there is one thing I absolutely hate in this world it is running. So I’ve started using twelve pack cases of soda as dumbbells. My arms are sore, but at least I can say I can “lift” 10 pounds per arm.

I’ve started work on two novels. One is inspired by real life-about my struggle with self harm and you know, life. One is a more dime store romance novel that’s basically just me trying to tap into some unused creative voices. I’ve written nearly 10K words in the first and a thousand in the second (which I only started today). I’m developing the power of words and I think that’s a great thing. More than most things, I wish to be a writer. I just want to be able to do what I love-and that is helping people and writing.

I’ve really been getting into spirituality and meditation. I mean, I was before, but I’m trying to incorporate it into each and every day. It’s a little hard when Ben and our housemates are home, but I try. In fact, that’s how I’ve managed to get my proposal for the project done.

I’ve narrowed down my list of law schools to 13-which I will be applying to in THREE MONTHS. My life just keeps plugging away and I can hardly contain my excitement. I mean-in three months I ask colleges to look at my applications and take a chance on a girl from the midwest with a heart full of passion and a brain full of song lyrics and sarcasm. And then in just about six months, I’ll find out which ones believed in me!

I suppose that’s about all for now. ❤

Aftermath

Self-care is a topic I’m pretty annoyingly new to. And the sad thing is, I think there are people here who are in the same boat. It’s one of those things that you think “BUT OF COURSE” when someone explains it, but you never think about it until then. And it can also be one of those things that grips you tight and raise you from depression (or mania, as the case may be). I know that I’ve been unusually quiet this last week, and I must say that it was for my own good. I’ve mentioned it to a couple people privately, but I absolutely needed to focus on some self-care this week and although I’m far from the end of needing it, I at least want to get some thoughts put down. All about the story, after all.

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It’s not funny, but I guess it’s more ironic than anything-the fall from happy. I usually know when it’s coming, I can feel it like I can feel a cold coming on. I’ll slowly lose interest in an activity, become more and more tired for no reason, desire to seclude myself. And then just as I’m prepared to fight my way to the top, depression sets in like a fog. It is that cycle that I have come to expect my entire life. It is the time when I am the most creative, but lack the desire to create. It’s a million conflicts, a thousand contradictions.

I’ve ALWAYS been a high-functioning depressive. During my largest, most deeply depressed state I was spiraling out of control and no one even knew. My grades didn’t slip (I had a 4.0 all the way until my last semester of my senior year-that’s why I hate calculus. It brought me down to a 3.98.) I was involved in every creative activity I could be involved in and I thrived. But I was dead inside. Completely and utterly dead inside. I wrote a 75K word book in one month followed by a 50K word book the month after and another one the month after that. I was self-harming, I was in the middle of switching from bulimia to anorexia, I was a zombie. And not one person would have ever guessed it.

I grew used to depression. It seemed to be my “default setting” (which is what I call it) and it was something I knew how to work through. So imagine my surprise when there were no warning signs, no subtle hints and one day bam!

color fade

It literally hit just like that. I was fine, I was happy and then by that evening I was crying on the couch (and by crying I mean sobbing in the ugliest, most desperate way) because I couldn’t find the light in the dark. I became a reflection of the lost girl I had been in high school-broken, confused and desperate. I watched the world shift to grey (I see the world in higher amounts of color and their hues when I exit depression. I can literally watch the colors fade when I get depressed.)

I texted one of my friends the words:

I know that I cannot possibly do all the good I want to if I neglect myself…It’s hard, but I know I’m not alone…I’m trying to find my path in the dark.

And that’s really when I knew I needed to retreat and regroup. So that’s exactly what I did. I’m not here to tell you that I’ve made a full recovery. I’m not even here to tell you that I’m back to myself. I’m merely stopping by to tell you all that as long as there is breath left in me, I will not die while I yet live. I will say though, I believe that I am out of the worst of it and that I do know that I have a plan in place for such a time as this and there is no need to worry. I may be slow to regaining my blogging pace, but I will return, as I always do.

The Grey Areas of Going Dark

(I’ve literally JUST submitted this to The Mighty, so we’ll see if it gets accepted. In the mean time, here’s my thoughts on the depressive spectrum of suicidal ideation.)

There’s never once been a time when I have looked myself in the mirror and said the
five words that seem to adhere themselves to a mental illness diagnosis: “I
want to kill myself.” Not when I had my first psychotic break (or my second),
not when I reached the lowest part of my depression. And yet, if you asked me
if I had ever attempted suicide, my answer would be yes. Had I ever thought
about it? Yes again. But not once had I ever thought those five words.

One of the first lessons someone with a mental illness diagnosis learns is that
there are often no black-and-white situations. The line between correct
diagnosis and misdiagnosis isn’t a mile wide, it’s a hair’s width. We learn to
see things on a spectrum, on a scale. And yet, in this most prevalent of litmus
tests for depression, these five words seem to be a yes or no, black or white
area.

I’m here to disagree. Vehemently.

All too often, there isn’t a life versus death attitude that accompanies mental
illness. It’s much more layered, a muddled grey than it is a color dichotomy.
There’s often more desperation and anguish in the expression than the pointed
action of “I want to kill myself.” And what’s worse, the other phrases, which
carry just as much weight and sincerity as that one, aren’t even given a second
glance. They’re completely brushed off and put aside because, after all, everyone feels like that at some point,
right?

 

“I don’t want to live anymore.”

 

This sentence, much like the litmus
tester, is one I’ve never spoken aloud, but I can remember a few times when I mentally
said it to myself in the mirror, the tears running down my cheeks. It was the
point where the depression took over and I’d had enough. What I was really
saying was that I don’t want to live a life where I’m constantly feeling used
up, depressed and frustrated.

 

“I just want to sleep and not wake up.”
Life presents itself with some
fierce challenges sometimes. Fighting a battle against yourself is a long,
tiresome journey of epic proportions. Being able to rest for just a few moments
seems like the most luxurious perfection and it can feel like after years of
fighting yourself, you have earned a permanent reprieve. This is my own
personal indicator of depression, because what I’m really saying is that I’m
tired of constantly fighting a battle that no one even knows I’m in and I need
a break.

 


“I want to cease to be. Like I never existed.”

This phrase often comes close to
“rock bottom” when I’m clinging on to the walls of hope and love with bloody
knuckles, waiting for someone to throw me a metaphorical rope. I feel like the
one to blame for everything that’s wrong. If I were better, different, gone,
life would be better for everyone and everything. What I really mean is that I’m
tired of watching everything fall apart and feeling like it’s all my fault. I
want the pain to cease, not my life.

 


“I just want it all to stop.”

Variations of this one seem to be
spoken to the friends or family who got a little too close when I’m emotionally
vulnerable. I don’t want them to worry about me or involve themselves
unnecessarily, but I want them to understand that I’m in pain. I feel
overwhelmed by life: the things that have happened, will happen and are
happening. What I’m really saying is that I need life to pause without
consequences so I can take a deep breath, pull myself together and invest in
some serious self-care.

 


“I can’t do this anymore.”

This one is the rock bottom, end of the line sentence that creeps up at the worst
moments of my battle with depression. There’s no hidden meaning here, it’s very
much self-explanatory. At my very lowest point, this was
the phrase that played on repeat in my head. At that moment, I couldn’t exist
as I was, I couldn’t live the life I had. My last words on earth would have
been these five, because they were the ones that matched the heartache. I
didn’t want to die, but I could no longer live.

 
In the end, not everyone experiences depression or suicidal tendencies in the same
way. But no matter what you mean or what phrase you use, the implications are
real. Being stuck in the grey areas of suicidal thoughts is no less painful,
and yet it’s much less talked about, making it that much more dangerous. There
isn’t just one way to live, and there isn’t just one way to cry out for help.

10 Things Bipolar People DON’T Want You To Know

I can’t count the number of articles I’ve come across with the title # Things Bipolar People Want/Wish You Knew or the List Of Things People With Mental Illnesses Wish People Understood. And for the most part, they’re pretty spot on. But I want to come at it from a different angle. I’ve done my best to keep it pretty similar in format, but if you feel I got something wrong, or missed a key point, drop me a comment! (Images thanks to Google-I own nothing.)

  1. We’re scared of our symptoms too.

bp2There’s nothing quite like the dive between (hypo)mania and depression when you feel like you can see the world crumbling around you. Or the emptiness that makes you feel like a dead (wo)man walking-no cares, no love, nothing. Or the darkest parts of depression when it hurts to cry because you’re trying not to wake anyone, so you silent sob but then you realize you aren’t breathing either and your chest is on fire, but it also feels like you’ve got a ton of bricks on top of you. You wonder if it’s possible to be so sad that you die from it. You walk around with the stress of what could happen if you have a manic episode. The way you lock up your credit cards, carry around only a limited amount of cash because you know you can’t stop yourself from spending everything you have. The way you stay home because you know you’re bound to get into a bad situation because you’ve been manic for a few days and now you’re bored. No matter how “together” we feel we’ve got it, there are days when we are genuinely concerned that

2. We’ve given up hope for ourselves more than you

We know that sometimes we’re a hot mess. Hearing you say “I’m done.” when we have a bad day (or too many in a row), or watching you go for a drive because you “can’t handle” us at the moment just reminds us that we’re alone. And as many times as you’ve grown tired of us, we’ve done that twice as much with ourselves. bp7 If we trust you enough to open up, it’s because we know that we’re eventually going to fail ourselves and we need you to pick up the pieces. It’s not fair of us to smother you in our problems, but if we could figure out how to not make them problems, or how to deal with them on our own, we wouldn’t need help so much. In the end, when the words “I suck” are said, it’s our inner demons speaking and we need you to tell us why we shouldn’t believe them again.

3. We genuinely don’t need a reason to be upset (in any mood) and it makes us trust you less when you yell at us that we DO need a reason.

If we knew why we felt the way we did, we could fix it. We have a mood disorder, not an analysis-of-the-situation disorder. If we’re showing you we have a problem, don’t force us to talk about it before we’re ready. It just makes it worse and we’ll lie about why we’re upset because we just want you to be happy that there is a reason-even if there isn’t. If we have to lie to you, then we don’t respect you as much, because we already fell like we’re lying to ourselves. And lying to anyone else is just a repeat of what we’ve wanted to get away from.

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4. We feel like actors. A Lot. And no, we don’t want to “remove our mask”.

bp1Feeling (hypo)manic? Better find a reason for being able to put in all the extra work, being extra chatty, being extra social. Feeling depressed? Better find a reason to feel sad. Or, better find a way to hide it behind the words “tired”, “sick”, and “allergies”. No one think to question the high-functioning worker or student, especially if it’s peak work time-end of the year sales, there’s a special on at work, it’s final’s season. We blame it on too much caffeine, the hyper form of exhaustion, being really excited for a goal or even wanting to get something done so that you can do something else (the key “give aways” here are goal orientation and chaos). Everyone avoids the depressed, especially if it’s the grey-faced, bags-under-the-eyes, slow-as-molasses individuals who seem to act like that for days. Everyone asks about the first day- “what’s wrong”, “need anything” and so on. But even the answers to those are lies. “Just tired”, “stressed”, “coming down with something”. It’s easier to just go on with the lies than it is to explain everything to every person. Because inevitably we’ll get the “avoidance” treatment ALL the time.

5. Looking at other, more successful people with Bipolar Disorder makes us feel like a disaster.

It is both a blessing and a curse to see the people who have come before (or are presently) and were (are) successful AND bipolar. Van Gogh. Lovato. Van Damme. Cobain. Churchill. Nightingale. Sinatra.Woolf. Artists, Singers, Actors, Leaders and more have graced history with their talents and their diagnoses, some of them succumbing to their disorders, some becoming great advocates. bp6 Not everyone with Bipolar Disorder is going to go on and be famous and we KNOW that. But it hurts quite a lot that some of the people who were most successful at their craft had it and we share a condition and aren’t sharing in the capabilities. It’s easy for us to start a painting or sculpture, musical instrument, novel, poem, whatever and then destroy it because we listen to the voice that says “you’ll never get noticed.” While we’re happy for the successful people with bipolar disorder, we want to be like them too and that usually doesn’t happen.

6. We’re absolutely normal-just in a more spectacular capacity.

successsWhether we want to admit it or not, we’re completely normal. We eat, drink, breathe and exist the same as anyone else. But we do so in a broader spectrum. We experience great sorrow at the loss of a friend, or freedom, or innocence. We experience great anger at perceived injustices, at inequality. We experience pure joy at the birth of our best friend’s first child, at the sight of a rainbow or a thunderstorm, at the realization that we succeeded at a task we’d never tried before. Where other people may feel confused, we feel it more. Where others may feel concern, we feel the weight of the world. It’s not about the Hollywood stereotype of the best-friend-turned-serial-killer. We have jobs that we fight desperately to keep, we have friends and families and we go to school. Just the same as any body else. We just live it more.

7. We become specialists in our diagnoses and we don’t appreciate being compared to your “crazy aunt” or your “moody neighbor”.

It’s nice when people have had genuine contact or a relationship with someone who actually had bipolar disorder. It’s nice to know that if you have an episode, you can talk to them and they can help you through it. It isn’t AT ALL nice when people pretend they understand. We aren’t like your “crazy aunt” who threw your uncle’s things out of the house because he broke her favorite plate. And we aren’t like your “moody neighbor” who doesn’t smile when you say good morning and cackles over his cup of black coffee at a kid who falls off their bike. We just experience life in a deeper spectrum (see number 6). bp4 And while we’re on the topic, STOP calling the weather bipolar. That’s offensive to the people who actually have bipolar and that’s altogether not hilarious. We get it, you have problems with the weather. Bipolar disorder has the capacity to destroy our lives. Pack a sweater and an umbrella. You’ll be fine.

8. We could write a dissertation on suicide and the types of suicidal tendencies.

bp9Everyone, just about, is familiar with the concept of suicide, and there may even be people who have experience with it on a more personal basis. A person with bipolar is exceptionally likely to thought about, if not tried suicide. But there’s more to it than being depressed and then dying. There’s plenty more motives than people want to discuss. And then there are the latent forms of suicidal tendencies. Because most people are familiar with the “I don’t want to live anymore” version. Not as many people think about the “I want to sleep and not wake up” kind or the “I wish I could just cease to be” kinds. We could write novels about this subject in particular and probably come pretty close to making it the encyclopedia of suicidal tendencies and things you never thought to associate with them.

9. We go between being really proud of who we are and feeling like a giant mistake

bp3.jpgWe know it’s a hassle. But some days we wake up feeling like we run the world. And those days are so few and far between that we run with them in the farthest possible manner. Because soon enough, we know there will come a day when we just can’t seem to do anything right. It isn’t that the days when we feel epic are the truth and the other days are lies. It’s more fluid, more layered than that. We are experts at living in all the times (past, present and future). So when we say “We rock” it is at that moment, we feel we have reached a milestone of success which can be seen at that moment. When we say “we suck” it is because at that moment all we can see are the failures. It doesn’t mean we’re completely failures or completely successes, it’s just what looks more prevalent at that particular moment.

10. We don’t know how to live our lives.

The sentence that seems to pop up the most lately is that of “adulting is hard”. There are even renditions which say “I’m done adulting. If you want me, I’ll be in my pillow fort with my coloring book.” At some point, we have come to realize that we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing. We can find things which help us manage our symptoms safely and in a positive way. We can avoid triggers. We can accept only what we can reasonably handle. But in the end, we don’t know what we’re doing. There is no manual for living with bipolar disorder. And even if there was, not everyone is the same, so it might not work for us. Funnily enough though, not too many people (with AND without the diagnosis) know how to live their lives. Turns out, people with bipolar disorder just might be the firs tot admit the way that everyone is feeling. No one knows what’s going on. And that’s part of the fun.

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