I am not manic, and I feel scared shitless. The medication seems to be working, I feel reality. Reality feels very heavy. For fucks sake, I have 5 very shitty tattoos on my foot now. Three of them which I did with a tattoo gun I bought on amazon, and two I let my friends do. I also have no hair again. I don’t mind that so much. I like short hair, I just am not sure if I want it buzzed this short, I liked it a little longer.
Mania is a bitch, it feels so damn good and every, single, time, that I am manic, I am convinced I’m not manic. As soon as I come down though, the weight of all my decisions lays very heavy. I feel a lot of guilt. I am almost so used to it by now, and all my terrible decisions, that I sort of just accept it. I can’t dive too deep into regret or i will hate myself.
I just want to cry. I can feel hot tears filling up around my eyes right now. I crave a break from life, but I know it will never come. I must, and I will, keep pushing forward. There are parts of me I love very much, then there are parts, well, let’s just say, we are not the best of friends. Every single day is a battle. The bipolar first set in, when I was around 16 years old. At times like these, I wonder to myself if I will ever get to be “normal” like I was before my illness set in.
Sometimes I think how I must look strange, too outspoken, and weird to the people around me. I openly tell strangers that I suffer from Bipolar 1 disorder, that I have rapid cycling, that I have general anxiety disorder. I don’t feel any judgment towards any mental illness, because I know what it feels like. I know mental illness and the discussion of it makes many people uncomfortable, but I do not care. I have to fight the stigma, I must. Not just for me, but for anyone and everyone with a mental illness. We are not alone, and our illness doesn’t make us undesirable or “crazy”, it just is a part of us that needs a little bandage.
We live in a world where so many people hide their struggles from the world because they fear judgement. Then the world judges more because it seems there are so few of us. In reality, there are every year about 42.5 million American adults suffering from a mental illness. Let me say that again, 42.5 million. We, you, us, are not alone.
May is the month of Mental Health Awareness, so I just wanted to send all my love to every single one of you. Being “different” is a beautiful thing, many famous people in history were very unique like you and I. Some suffering from eating disorders, anxiety, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, or even, it was said that Abraham Lincoln had chronic depression.
YOU are beautiful. You are unique. You are strong. I send all my love to you. I hope you come back to read my next blog post on random shit. XOXO