I don’t know why but two things have been happening a lot lately: I’ve been feeling increasingly irritated, and I’ve been reading up on what it means to be Bipolar. What the symptoms are. How people with Bipolar decimate their families, especially when they don’t read this awesomely enlightening information which basically paints “survivors” out as being promiscuous, prone to substance abuse, with wildly waving moods, a suicidal streak and a penchant for shopping. All this sounds a lot exhausting and if not, something to be very very ashamed about. And I, not having a credit card to my name, cannot console myself with retail or any other kind of therapy for now, so reading this information has left me feeling crumpled, on the verge of breaking down, and a lot tearful.
Ok, maybe it wasn’t the information. But rather the advent of work (which I am thoroughly enjoying) and the thought that the people who are contracting me would find out that I have this shameful thing – which either makes me horny, high, or not to be found at my desk, but rather at the local mall – or all of that together. Right now, they see me as an expert, they respect my opinion, they defer to my decision. And I am afraid that I will be found to be an impostor, with a broken (and many other things) brain (and quite a used body by the list of symptoms I saw listed). And because I just adore ripping myself off, I start wondering well that is kinda true… And so it carries on until I’m in a full scale roast.
I’ve read a lot about how you shouldn’t allow your past to determine your future, that you shouldn’t label yourself or self-stigmatise, but sorry, I have not had treatment to the contrary. I have already proclaimed that I am also an expert in roasting myself, but the funny thing is that I have never been proved wrong. And this little big Bipolar heart and brain so so so want to be wrong. Most of all that I won’t be proved right again. Want to believe that I am ok, that I can stand my ground in any professional discussion / setting – but then my lower lip wobbles and I immediately start to sprout water in the oddest of places. Given the beating Bipolar people purportedly give to their bodies, it’s not surprising that we – well me – can be leaky at times.
The truth is that I’m not like everyone else and I don’t want to be. But let’s just say I haven’t exactly found myself in situations regularly where I am accepted quirks and all – any day in this Bipolar Gal’s life. I have serial foot in mouth disease, say the wrong things, gush too much, get emotional and want to hug everybody. Or I want to smoke in my sleep, eat chocolate in bed and watch Food Network obsessively sometimes. Sometimes I just want to cry. That’s in between the many things Bipolar people seem to shockingly be kept engaged with. What I’m saying is that the Bipolar picture ain’t pretty, and certainly has not been typecast as a synonym for calm, collected can deliver consultant. So I’m feeling itchy, I’m feeling irritated, and feel sad that I may be found out. I want to end on a happy note – I always try to – but I can’t today. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.
4 M's Bipolar Mom 