It has been a long time since I have posted on my blog. I
need to change that.
Sometime sharing is difficult. And sometimes, I may share
for the wrong reasons.
What do I mean by that?
The wrong reason is when I want desperately – too
desperately – to be believed. But, I realize it’s NOT my job to convince anyone
that I am sick. It’s not my job to justify or prove that my bipolar, especially
at this very moment in time, is unbearable. It’s not my job to prove that the
only reason I can get up in the morning is thanks to a cocktail of medication
that allows me these seemingly false, but necessary nonetheless moments of strength.
When able, I MUST participate in life. Participating in life
is part of my treatment. I celebrate that. I need that. I get tired sometimes
of having to – or feeling like I must – look or sound a certain way to earn the
“green light” of being believed or being sick enough. I am tired of thinking I must
give off visual cues so that people feel comfortable with believing I am sick
enough.
By who’s standards, I wonder?
The moments I can laugh with my family or joke with my
friends I hold on to because the next moment may find me plunging into
darkness. Such is the unpredictability of a bipolar depressive episode. If you
see me smiling or hear me chattering away, recognize that I am simply managing
my symptoms in a less grueling way in that moment. Be happy for me if you can.
I am sick now. Right now, I am not able to “power through”
or “fight off” this episode. A healthy diet and a good dose of exercise will
not make me well. They may help, but they won’t fix it. Lighting scented
candles and meditating are also helpful, but not the answer. Sadly, the
chemicals inside my brain that govern my illness are in charge and I can manage
in whatever way I need to.
No one chooses mental illness. It is not the “new black” or “on
trend”. But neither is it something to apologize for. There is no shame in this
illness. My bipolar disorder won’t look like anyone else’s. It presents
differently in everyone. For me, sadness is only a tiny sliver. It is so much
more and sometimes it stops me in my tracks. Times like right now.
It is in these times that I must draw on my own words when I
am advocating for mental illness. It is not just for me. It is also for anyone
else who feels that they don’t have a voice.
There is no shame. Stigma has no power here.
