There was suspicion of me being bipolar at 10, but I was finally diagnosed at 12. This was at a time when most psychiatrists didn’t believe that children could be bipolar. So finding proper treatment was difficult. Due to the severe outbursts caused by environmental issues I was heavily medicated until about 18. It was at 18 when I really started seeing how people view bipolar. I’d grown up being this way so I didn’t see the big deal. So my moods are extreme. Okay, that sucks for me. But how does that make a knife wielding psycho? I turn my rages and such inward. I realize that there are extreme cases, but I didn’t understand why I was lumped in with the major stereotype. I still don’t understand it, but the only thing I can do is be me. I can’t change the views of other people. What I can do is share my experience with other people and help them cope with the morons that think we go from normal to a knife wielding psycho in 2.5 seconds. At 18, out on my own, I made the oh so brilliant decision that I could do it without medication. My interpersonal relationships were hellish at best. I self medicated with weed to keep the racing thoughts to a minimum and then drank to make myself the life of the party. Most people start partying at 21. By 21 I realized that the partying was getting me nowhere except kicked out of college. I settled down and by the grace of the powers that be, I pulled things together and got my associates in Social Work. After being put on academic probation with a .8, I proudly strutted across the stage with silver cords, boasting a 3.47 grade point average. I’m still not sure how I rallied back that hard, with no medication. Miracles really do happen. Coming off the extreme high slung me into an ego crushing low when I couldn’t handle the 5 advanced classes my first year of my Bachelors degree. A low that I’m just now starting to shake off. Life hasn’t been easy, but it never is. Even for the “normal” people. I’ve been thrown my share of curve balls. Some I’ve struck out on; some I’ve knocked out of the park. My manias have been the cause of “the next Pulitzer prize winning” 50,000 word novel written in 3 days (which, in reality, was 102 pages of suck in the written form) and the depressions have gotten so dark that I’ve begged God not to let me wake up.
I’ve decided that I’m not to allow my bipolar to define me. It’s part of me, yes. But it’s not all of me. I own it, it doesn’t own me. I know the desperation it causes, so I’m here to help people realize that they’re not alone.
