PERSONAL SHEI: Diary Of A Bipolar Menace (1)
Ever since i made it known to the public that i’m a Bipolar II patient it’s like I’ve become a bomb in the hands of those I love. “How did you sleep honey?” has turned into. “Did you remember to take your Prozac this morning?” “What’s wrong?!” has become “Go take your pill. You’ll feel better.” I even miss hearing “You’re a fucking bitch!” because “Did you forget your medicine or something?” stings so much worse.
Everyone looks at me like some kind of monster. Like I’m a “nut.” Like they are afraid to tread on me, god forbid the land mine that is my emotional range suddenly implodes on itself.
Im fine. I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.
I understand that the person I used to be was collapsing into pieces on the sidewalk with every step I took. I’m sorry for running away to England. I’m sorry for slitting my wrists, I’m sorry for spending all of that money, for being in this shell, for shattering my phone to cease contact with the world.
But I’m not sorry for the beautiful art I’ve created. The amazing manic and depressing nights when the pen was moving faster than my brain. For the writings, and the walk on side of the road at 3 am. For the career i have. For karaoke nights in bars I was too young to get into. And for all of the spontaneous, amazing, life changing things that this disorder gave to me.
So next time you treat my diagnosis like a jail sentence or a curse.
Remember that it’s MY FUCKING HEAD that swings like a revolving door, and my choice to do what I want with it.