Each of us has our own story. One so unique, so detailed, and so special, we get to call it our own. Our stories are all different, each like a snowflake. Each chapter of our lives is written in as we live it. Each page, each word and sentence has its own meaning and truth. Every letter is written in ink. Once it is on the page, it’s hard to get it off, nearly impossible. There’s no going back, no white-out to fix your mistakes. Our stories start when we are born, growing with each day and every experience. These stories aren’t perfect, and the pages are not perfectly straight or aligned. Our books are disheveled and most of the time only we can understand the true meaning behind our stories. Then after a lifetime of happiness, struggles, and fear, the pen slows down and gradually stops moving. Our pen strokes fade from a tired wrist. However our stories do not disappear with our bodies. They continue to live on in the spirit of others. They soar around the people we’ve touched and helped, remembered even when we are gone. The ink never fades, no matter how long it’s been there. And again, our stories aren’t perfect even when they are complete. They have ink smudges, some scribbles, and parts where our writing gets a little sloppy, sometimes even unintelligible. But that’s okay because they are our stories, and our legacy we leave behind.
So why am I sharing my story? Why would I let people know about the biggest secret that rests between its pages? Because I want people to know. Because if I tell someone, if I let them know who I really am, maybe they will understand me better. Maybe they will understand my secret, and realize why it is a secret. Perhaps they will even take my secret and the actual truth behind it and share it with someone else. Who will then in turn share it with another individual. And then those lies that rest in my secret, the lies and myths that people assume, will disappear. There won’t be any tall tales surrounding it, just the truth.
And my secret? What is so important for me to hide?
I am bipolar. I have been since I was 14. On the outside I’m just your average teenager; lots of friends, a social life, stressing through high school and planning for my future. However, on the inside, I have a mental disorder. You never would have guessed just by looking at me and hanging around me that I’m bipolar without me telling you. So by this point, you most likely think you know what bipolar is. A person with this mental illness must be crazy, off the wall, really depressed and perhaps even dangerous to others, right? And that’s what I want to clear up. I don’t want to be ashamed any more. I am 16 years old and can barely say bipolar aloud without hating myself even more.
Bipolar is mood swings. Everyone has them, just people with the disorder have more prominent moods. There is no cure. I am stuck like this for the rest of my life. Everyday for as long as I live I will be labelled as having a mental disorder. People who have a bipolar disorder take medication, and that alone shields it from anyone’s view. With all these pills our moods are the same as any person standing next to us. The textbook definition of Bipolar Disorder is: one or more manic or hypomanic episodes, accompanied by one or more major depressive episodes, typically happening in cycles. However, there are two different types of bipolar, each differing in their cycles.
I don’t want to say ’suffering’. People with a mental illness shouldn’t have to suffer. But I am so ashamed of having this, it hurts me. Maybe if everyone was bipolar I would feel normal again. I wouldn’t feel so different. But I know that will never happen. I’ll always be different. Abnormal. Mismatched. A freak. Bipolar stories are invariably gut-wrenching litanies of loss and regret. But I don’t want mine to be. I want mine to end with happiness. But can that ever happen? Can someone with a bipolar disorder ever live happily? All the stress, all the negativity surrounding even the idea of the disorder. Yeah I’m different, but aren’t we all?
Lets set things straight. It’s not a disease that you can catch; it’s a disorder that you grow into. The disorder is not a label. You can’t say that a person is bipolar. They have bipolar. It’s not a label and it’s not like anyone with the disorder would walk around with a name tag saying, “hi, my name is Grace and I have bipolar disorder type II”. While the disorder affects people in different ways, individuals with bipolar disorder during the manic phase tend to be a lot more outgoing and daring than people without the disorder. Bipolar disorder is found in a large number of people involved in the arts. A lot of people question whether many creative geniuses had bipolar disorder. So maybe one day I will become a genius. Then instead of wishing futilely for my bipolar to disappear, I will be content with it and my creative juices. A series of authors have described mania as related to higher accomplishment, elevated achievement or motivation and ambitious goal setting. One study indicated that greater-than-average striving for goals, and sometimes obtaining them, corresponded with mania. Yeah there is a positive side, but it is as small as an ant, compared to it’s predator, the negative, the ant eater.
Being a teenager is hard. Being a teenager with bipolar is even harder. Most teens go through phases and mood elevations when they are happy. And then something troubling happens and they are down in the dumps. It’s the same for bipolar teens, but our moods are more prominent and stronger than average.
** Normal teen on a high: reading one book and feeling the accomplishment of finishing it all the way through.
** Bipolar teen on a high: reading one book, feeling the accomplishment, and then reading six more because there’s no limit to the temporary happiness.
Late adolescence and early adulthood are peak years for the onset of bipolar disorder. These are critical periods in a young adult’s social and vocational development, and they can be severely disrupted.
In the beginning I was normal. At least I thought I was. The only thing wrong was this depression that seemed to be sucking my life away. It sat inside me, slowly eating away at my body, my happiness. I thought it was normal though. Everyone has their bad days. Especially moody hormonal teenagers struggling to keep up with school and life in general. Everyone hates their life once in a while, right? But what about everyday? What about waking up and realizing that you don’t want to be here right now. Like you want to go back to bed for hours, days, even forever. Feeling like the world doesn’t want you in it and there’s nothing that can make it better. That’s how I felt for so long. I didn’t let people see it though. I hid my depression well. Both from those I love and those who know me best. I thought it would go away, but I was wrong.
But then, when it was at its worst, all the sadness went away and I was happy again. I was me. I was smiling, I was happy. The sad thoughts and feelings seemed to melt away like the newly laid frost on a patch of grass. It was gone. But could it come back the next day? Would it? Because then something would happen, and I would become unraveled in the hurt, suffocating once again. The frost encompassing my entire body, freezing me for the time being. Until the sun came out again and melted it all away. It was a continuous cycle, like a roller coaster. Up, down, up, down, even a loop-the-loop thrown in there once or twice. I didn’t notice it. I thought I was normal, just like everyone else. Maybe just a little more sad because of the life I was living.
Then they diagnosed me with bipolar but I didn’t believe them. Doctors aren’t always right. “Mood swings?” I asked. No way. That’s not me. I’m just a hormonal teenager. These moods happen. But I was wrong. I didn’t believe it at first, not at all. There’s still a part of me even today that doesn’t want to believe it. I’ve seen comedy shows on TV mocking people who suffer from bipolar. Saying we’re crazed and unpredictable. Wild. I didn’t want to be made fun of. It’s hard blending in as a teen in the first place let alone having a mental disorder. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was good at hiding other things, why not this as well. But people laugh at it. They think that if you have bipolar, then you’re crazy and suffer from a mental problem. But I hate that. I can’t repeat it enough. There’s nothing wrong with me mentally, I keep telling myself. I’m normal, I’m fine. But if I’m still normal, how come I’m not happy? Why don’t I love myself like I should? Why can’t I accept who I am and move on?
Why, why, why. It’s been the most commonly used word in my vocabulary lately. Why me? Why bipolar? Why now? Why do I deserve this? What on earth did I do to deserve this? Why me? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be suicidal and then turned into a bipolar freak. It’s not my fault, I didn’t bring this upon myself. And never, NEVER would I wish this upon someone else. Even if I hated someone so much, they could do the most horrible thing and I wouldn’t ever wish them to have bipolar. I never wanted to be in this situation myself, so why make other people feel the same way? No one should have to deal with this. No one. Unless you’re like me and stuck with it forever.
But medications work. If I don’t take them, I still feel the same. But it’s not me who notices the mood swings, it’s the people around me. The ones who cared enough to do something about it before I was gone for good. Effective medications may result in the reduction of manic symptoms but the medicine can also be mood blunting or sedative, resulting in the person feeling they aren’t their usual self. Not only that but I feel dumb taking medication. Like there’s something wrong with me. Like I’m abnormal, an alien. The words echo in my mind constantly. I can’t type them enough.
Some evidence suggests that environmental factors play a significant role in the development and course of bipolar disorder. I didn’t grow up in a normal family. There was always love and support, but at the same time struggle and disappointment. The death of a sister, the divorce of parents, sexually assaulted by a brother. But how could I ever blame being bipolar on the people I love? I can’t. I would gladly blame myself for the way I am before putting the blame on my family. It’s hard for everyone growing up at times, not just me. But there have been repeated findings that between a third and a half of adults diagnosed with bipolar disorder report traumatic or abusive experiences in childhood. Is it a connection or just an excuse to pin the blame for a mental disorder on something else?
Findings suggest that the period leading up to mania is often characterized by depression and anxiety at first, with isolated sub-clinical symptoms of mania such as increased energy and racing thoughts. But doesn’t everyone have their down days? Isn’t excitement about something normal? And of course it’s easier to attain your goals when you’re happy and motivated). There is some indication that once mania has begun to develop, social stresses, including criticism from significant others, can further contribute. After all everyone is also doubted once in a while. There are also indications that individuals may hold certain beliefs about themselves, their internal states, and their social world including striving to meet high standards despite it causing distress that may make them vulnerable during changing mood states in the face of relevant life events. I’m pretty sure that the majority of teen girls give in to the beauty ads and media telling you how you should look. Some are just more easily influenced than others.
A tidbit of information: Many people with bipolar disorder can become suicidal, especially during the depression or mania phase of their cycle. People suffering from bipolar type II have high rates of suicide compared to people suffering from other mental health conditions, including major depression. However, depression is just a part of the whole bipolar type II experience.
It is so easy to fall asleep crying and never tell a soul about it. Why talk to the people, the doctors, who ruined my life the day they diagnosed me with bipolar disorder? They ask questions, why should I answer? It’s not like it would make a difference. I hate talking, so why start now? After all the hardships I have already endured in life, I figure it’s safer for me to build my wall now. Sooner rather than later. And my wall isn’t just brick. It’s platinum, it’s steel, it’s titanium, it’s 100 feet tall, and even more than that wide. It is my sanctuary, my place of peace. The place I can go and hide from everything that hurts.
So being diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 14, hiding it for two years, and finally taking my first steps in telling my story at 16 has been hard. Wait, scratch that, harder than hard. So if I have had to endure all this, what about the children I might want in the future? Will they have to go through the same hell as me? Will they end up bipolar and hating their lives too? Just thinking about passing this disorder onto someone else doesn’t feel right. Will they blame me for giving it to them? Will they end up hating me for my genes that course through them? But maybe I’m just being too fussy. There is still a chance that they won’t have it as well. And if they do, it’s nothing a little medication can’t fix, right? Well it’s not that easy. A whole lifetime of pills and doctor appointments? I’m just afraid to even want kids in the future now. What if they have bipolar disorder as well and blame their suffering on me?
When my Mom first had the idea of telling my teachers I was bipolar, I was skeptical. Why would I want anyone to know? But I let her tell them. What harm could it do? Maybe it would help? So yeah, some of them were nicer after that. And sure, a few of them shot me pity looks once in a while. But what hurts the most is when they look at you differently. Like you have the plague, like you have grown a second nose twice the size of your face. That hurt the most. Thinking that telling someone I am bipolar could totally change the way they look at me; change the way they view me as a person. I’m still the same as before though. Just with a big secret to hide. Yep, that’s when it became a secret. I want to be known as me. I want people to know me for my talents, my personality, all the things they like about me. Not as the bipolar girl who used to be normal.
PITY NEEDS TO STOP. I pity myself enough without everyone who knows I have bipolar pitying me as well. My life is the same as yours, just perhaps with a little more ups and downs. I’m not complaining anymore. I have already done enough of that within the past years. I just want my story to be heard a little louder so others who have a mental illness don’t feel so alone. So that when my Mom explains to a teacher why I’m struggling with something they won’t look at me differently. So they don’t look at me like I’m a totally different person. So that I won’t be afraid anymore of people finding out about my mental disorder. Just so maybe another 14 year old who is diagnosed with bipolar disorder type I or II won’t feel so alone and lost like I did. I am stronger now, and I want to prove it to anyone and everyone that has ever doubted someone just because they have bipolar.
I WILL USE ANY METHOD I CAN TO GIVE PEOPLE WITH BIPOLAR HOPE. No, it’s not cancer. And no, it’s not well known. But bipolar is scary, just like any other mental illness. And yes, people who are diagnosed need hope. Everyone needs hope at some point in their lives, if not all the time. I had my family and friends there when I was first diagnosed, and they are still there for me. But never have I gotten the chance to talk to someone else who is bipolar about their story of struggle and then conviction. I know I am not alone. I know for a fact that there are so many other people out there just like me. It’s just. They are probably scared to come out of their shell too. But I understand completely.
Writing has helped me keep my sanity for sure. Not necessarily writing in a journal or a diary everyday, but writing poems and free verse and anything else that comes to mind. It helped me unleash some of the anger and frustration I had for the world. Even if it was just once in a while, it helped more than you think. On the plus side, there were some really pretty poems that came from all those bottled up emotions. So when you have so much to say, but have no idea how to say it: write. When you’ve run out of places to store all those emotions, let them out: write. When there’s no one to talk to: write. Write and someday your legacy will be heard through your own thoughts, experiences, and love. Write and what is the worst thing that could happen? Your pen running out of ink.
One day my Mom presented me with the idea of submitting some of my artwork to a website specifically made for people dealing with mental illnesses. Now, if I’m still in denial about being bipolar, why on earth would I want my name on a website that supports it? But I ended up submitting some of my drawings in the end. Why? Well at first just to please my Mom. She wouldn’t stop going on about how I should put my artwork out there for people to see and to accept my mental illness. So at the time I went all “typical teenager” on her and insisted that I was right, she was wrong and I wouldn’t comply with her wishes. So I put them on the website, but I didn’t put my real name. It was a win-win situation. She sees my drawings on the website promoting healthy mental illnesses and I keep my identity a secret. However, now I do see where she was coming from. It is okay to be bipolar. And touchedbyfire.com just proves that there are many other people out there with mental illnesses. And they aren’t afraid to share that. So now… I have bipolar and I will shout it at the top of my lungs… depending on who’s around!
MYTHS:
Bipolar is NOT a rare condition. Your neighbor could have bipolar disorder type I or II and you wouldn’t even know it. The person at the checkout counter of the supermarket you pay for your groceries could have bipolar. That old lady watering her lawn that you passed on the street yesterday? The young man walking his dog past your house? The cute waiter at your favorite family restaurant? Any of them could have bipolar, and you never would have guessed. So if someone tells you they have bipolar, don’t be surprised. I am no different from anyone else. I can still love and be loved, I have a life, friends, family. I just have this secret. A really big one that may change the way you look at me, or change your opinion and value of our relationship.
So after all this suffering, I do believe I am allowed to question God. You can believe he is there, or you can believe in something entirely different. But I was raised to believe in him, so it’s easier to just accept it. Though I do wonder why he hasn’t helped me. I suppose He stuck me with bipolar disorder because He knew I would be able to handle it. But I don’t want to handle it. I don’t want it. If you have a cut, you can stitch it up. A scrape you can bandage. A broken heart will mend over time. But bipolar disorder is forever. And forever is a very, very long time. I can’t wait it out and hope for it to go away. Because I know it never will. So yes I will question God if I want to, and I’m not afraid to admit that there are times I have my doubts. However, I don’t mind being on a waiting list. Because I know there is always someone out there who either is the same as me, or has it worse. So in a way, I am the lucky one. I have the strength and the power to continue my life through the ups and downs, and so I will. All I have to do is sift through all the pessimistic thoughts that surround bipolar disorder and focus on the positive, no matter how hard that is to do. Sooner or later I will learn to love my life, I know I will. So for all the bipolar people who are working on hiding who they really are, who mask their mental illness with a fake smile and lame excuses, I’m willing you to be free. Even if you’re different, there is always someone out there who loves you no matter what. You could grow an extra arm, a third eye, and dye your skin permanently purple, and someone, if not multiple people will still love you for who you are. Love is stronger than hate will ever be. Someone loves you, God will always love you too, and I will love you as well.