As you all know, I will be the first to admit, being bipolar isn’t always as beautiful as I can make it sometime sound.(I am also aware that I can make it sound wretched, and for that, I apologize it). But we fall somewhere in the middle on any given the day. Up = Manic. Down = Depressed. Normal = Thank Goodness!!! We are rainbows. We are rollercoasters. We are lollipops. Follow the yellow brick road.
As I wrote most recently, last month I had an allergic reaction as I call it to a medication. It was so very scary, not knowing where I am, what year it was, etc. Again, we are talking honestly and openly, that it crazy. I understand that. I would think that would be a bit crazy as well. Let’s talk crazy. Some think it is a nasty word, for me it is just a word I use openly to talk about myself. It is merely a description: I am short, curvy, and crazy. And a lot of other great things.
Some people can’t handle crazy. Some people won’t tolerate crazy. Some people will jump ship. They will say, “No way.” They will say, “I will not associate with crazy because then others will think I am crazy.” You will be hurt. You may cry. You may swear to never call them again. You will. Someday. But let’s talk about now. Right now it hurts.
I went through this the first time I went tried to commit suicide. Friends, very best friends, started distancing themselves from me. Their phone calls become fewer and fewer, and that is when I needed those individuals the most. But they didn’t know that because I was the big scary elephant in the room and no one likes talking to elephants. I think, looking back, my really big problem is that I didn’t reach out for help. I didn’t say, “Please listen to me.”
When I needed help most, when I needed someone to just listen to me, I kept quiet. I kept my feelings to myself until they scratced my inside ’til I was raw. That was not a wise choice. It made things worse for me. It was even hard to open up to therapists.
I have borderline traits and feel like I should be able to control everything, even my crazy moods. But it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes a lady needs a little help. I have learned to ask for help. I don’t always like it because it makes me feel weak, but I am not weak I just need a little tender love and care.
If I could do it all over from diagnosis to today, I would be more honest with others. I would say I am hurting when I am. I would say I feel crazy when I do. I would express my sadness, anger, and futile feelings. Because by doing so I would get the support I need. And that is what we all need – a support system, unconditional love, not people who are afraid of the crazy.