beautiful, blinding, mind-boggling, life-altering light.
That is the nature of bi-polar disorder, or in the more politically correct lingo, manic-depressive disorder.
The verbiage doesn’t change the nature of it, it simply makes those who have no clue about what it is, entails or emulates, feel better about saying it out loud.
Sometimes there is darkness, but when the darkness lifts, there is light.
And light in the aftermath of darkness is profound.
I would love to be able to explain this phenomenon, but I can’t.
I couldn’t even begin to explain it.
You either understand it because you live it or because you know someone who suffers from it or you are completely clueless.
If you are clueless, then there is nothing I can offer that will make the light bulb flick on above your head. You will never know the depths or the incredible highs of a brain that is well beyond your understanding.
I’m sorry for you, but can’t help your indifference.
Cluelessness (not a real word, I don’t think) isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but without some understanding of what goes on in the mind of a bipolarist (also not a real word), there is no way anyone can possibly understand how incredibly wonderful the moments of clarity, without racing thoughts, without disorientation, without doubt and insecurities can be.
Without the chaos, the clarity doesn’t mean anything and if one never has clarity, then their accomplishments will be mediocre at best.
It is like walking into a green, summer field and seeing a triple rainbow arch over the green field that is covered by white daisies with yellow centers.
That is what the light is like.
A moment of pure bliss that allows dreamless sleep and pure and beautiful clarity.
It allows me to understand what I have been misinterpreting, to find the truth within the lies.
It really is impossible to explain to someone who hasn’t lost, at some point, control of their conscious thought and then when hollowed out, to crash and burn.
Crashing is not the best feeling in the world, but it is necessary. It is like the control-alt-delete of the psyche and sometimes, it is at this point that people who pledge their friendship and loyalty jump ship.
How … well, convenient.
When I am depressed, well, I keep that to myself. No reason to add fuel to the fire of the witch-hunters.
I am who I am and will be who I’ll be.
I don’t need validation from people who pretend to support me when they have no interest in who I am at the core, in the depths of my heart, in the center of my soul.
I am me. I am not ashamed to be such although there are times when I am made to believe that I should be.
We bipolarists are not an anomaly. We are a force to be reckoned with because not only do we have brains that see, feel and hear everything, we are able to function during these times of chaos.
That makes us talented and creative and imaginative; and above all, it makes us survivors.
Those who take us for granted or think they can use us for their exclusive pleasure are the losers.
They didn’t get it.
They will never get it.
They lost the race when they rolled their eyes at our idiosyncrasies.
Our idiosyncrasies and oddities are what set us apart from everyone else and it is something to be cherished and embraced.
We are different, yes, and in being so, we are not cast in the same mold as the rest of humanity.
In my book, that makes us someone special and special is a pretty awesome thing to be.
I embrace it, even when I want to be rid of it, because it calls me to understand more than I should have to, endure greater disappointments than I should have to and to know more than I would have were my brain like everyone else’s.
It is at this point that I ask, who is normal? Who can maneuver through a mindfield (not a mine field, a mind one) and end up standing, head held high, solutions in hand?
Kind of puts it in perspective.
I have been mocked by ones that I truly thought I could trust.
I have been shunned by ones who have know me for years.
I have been abandoned by ones that I would have bet my life I could rely on.
These things, these events, these setbacks have not broken me yet made me more determined to be who I am.
I am content with myself even when I am discontent with myself.
I am special and the people who are like me will understand completely and hopefully feel special, too.
I am misunderstood and I am ok with that.
It means that I am a mystery and, let’s be honest here … how cool is that?
We are a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a riddle.
That makes us cool in the “you wish you could see what my brain sees” kind of way.
Yes. I am bipolar and I take each moment, each second, each event as it comes.
It is amazing what you can see when you take one moment at a time.
I love my life and though there are times when I forget who I am and can’t string words together to make coherent sentence, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Not a single thing.
I. Am. Me … and I’m good with that.
only one of hundreds of my favorite things about West Side Market in Cleveland, OH and a favorite of this bipolarist’s comfort foods 🙂