Bipolar, Bipolar! Where be Thou Art?

Bipolar, Bipolar! Where be Thou Art?

Well, where should I start??? Bipolar disorder and life for as long as I know it has been a godly mess since I turned 16. For some weird reason, I’ve spent three years thinking about nothing except how to feel better.

At one point in time, I didn’t want to feel used by my Bipolar disease. I got bored with it because it just doesn’t hurt anymore. But deep down inside I honestly want to feel again.

I’ve become such a monster that things like emotions don’t seem to reflect on me anymore.

Bipolar My Love, I crashed!

Well, it’s not always about that boys you know……before 16 I was always caught in between this cold war of my families with my bipolar symptoms. At times I honestly would consider death but then what happens?

Does it change anything? No… it’s still that same old shit that goes around. But these are things that least bother me anymore what bothers me most is this person that I’ve become.

My bipolar symptoms just kept getting worse. That got me to develop chronic anxiety. And, I knew, there is no turning back from there now.

In fact here is a snippet as to what I do with my Anxiety.

I never wanted to be so bitter and so…. screwed up within my mind. I’ll go to take a shower, I will scour…I will run…… until I feel safe inside a nutshell within me.

But it still doesn’t erase the mental bruise caused. In this entire three years apart from wasting my thoughts on the hell, I dug myself in to with my Bipolar. I realized that maybe I was down to my last straw.

Especially when you are a woman with bipolar. We become this exotic, and complicated fling. What are these unmeasurable standards set before us women?

Well, apart from these what makes me more screwed up in my brain is that… I am not happy just not happy with the person I am now.

I want to be better but how can I when all the signs are against me. Sometimes I try reasoning with myself with the theory of balance.

Sometimes it depends on pain to bring harmony into existence…………but when? When in my life will I ever be happy with me?

My mind manifestoes itself into this different world where I feel so absurd….so lonely….so dreadfully pathetic.

That I just start counting asses instead of sheep. I start counting my bipolar symptoms as it is.

Because I faithfully feel I’m now capable of anything….and now I’m afraid of myself.

Then I Tried

One of the most precious feelings in the world is to come to know that you are treated with kindness, even when someone treated you unworthy of that.

That is also why memories are funny. Very funny indeed. They are funny in the ways they keep you occupied and the ones that say goodbye, also the ones that pretend never to be there.

Many say that wisdom is far better than strength, but the price paid for wisdom is grave and heavy. Yet, where does this wisdom go after years of collections?

I guess, they just turn in to memories.  Memories of words, feelings, colors, faces, pain and so much more, all wrapped as screenshots put away somewhere behind.

Personally, I tend to rely on the action figure in my closet when it comes to such tricky matters of memories and wisdom. You see, I am a mere incapable human drowning between ‘to love, or not to love’.

I and my action hero go on walks, we talk it out, and sometimes he is just too damn busy. But I learned to wait.

I learned that patience is truly the only virtue that is the hardest to achieve and yet the best-est of weapon against a world that will frame you and everything about you. 

And Here I am Now with My Bipolar

Now back to my initial point of ‘kindness’, I guess in the end we learn that too along the way. We learn it from the trees that give out oxygen. Even though they know one of us is eventually going to pee all over them. Or the dog that patiently waits for his dad to return from work, without being able to say, ‘I miss you’. 

The lesson of kindness is everywhere, some of us learn it from our parents, and some of us don’t. Even my action figure teaches me kindness but that’s not where it ends.

Even if we bring him home like, twice a year only, but at least he tries. And kindness is not something that just automatically comes, it comes with patience.

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