Living with bipolar isn’t how most people imagine it to be. It isn’t a mask with two expressions, one that has a frown as low as the depths of hell and one with a smile so wicked that it made the witch of the east’s green skin crawl.
My life and my struggles aren’t an adjective that teenagers use to describe how Becky went from acting normal to doing something that didn’t coincide with how their beliefs went. Becky isn’t “so bipolar” because she can’t stand when pumpkin spice season starts.
My life isn’t a comedy sketch by Bo Burnham where left and right brain fight cheerfully to create a constantly balance. (Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Bo Burnham, but that sketch always seems to get to me.)
My mind never reaches a balance. It’s constantly a war of the worlds between manic and depressive. There is no middle ground.
I’m constantly fighting the pills that are supposed to keep me normal. But, for the same time that I’m on them as I’m off them, the less and less I feel a sliver of normalcy. I feel like a patient that just had a needle shoved through their eyes and nose to remove emotion. Even though they make me feel that way, a lobotomy probably couldn’t even fix me.
I find myself pushing everyone away, my mind coming up with inexistent reasons why people can’t stand my presence. People try to reassure me that everything is okay but it’s not okay. Things are constantly to the extreme.
I’m sick of always hearing “it’s in your head”. I know it’s in my head but that doesn’t make it any easier to cope with or to fix. I’m sorry I can’t come up with logical explanations on the spot. Or that my mind comes up with wild explanations for simple things that leave me crying and my hands shaking from the stress of something so small. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything. My mind is always racing faster than the speed of light. A comet can’t even keep up with it.
People keep saying it’ll get better, but it never seems to. I hope it gets better soon. I can’t seem to stand this anymore.