I don't want to say it. I don't want to talk about something that people don't understand. People are often afraid of the things they have a hard time understanding; I don't want to be one of those things. I don't want to be a freak-show where people can buy tickets and visit and then go home when they've had enough. When they've had their fill of uncomfortable, of strange. No, I don't want to say it... but there comes a time when we've all got to talk about things we might not be ready to say.
Parameters are something we set for ourselves, feeling like they give us cause to judge ourselves. So we don't try, we don't rise, we don't succeed. We flounder, and fall into the tidal pools that have sharp rocks in them and they prevent us from moving forward. There's no right time to say something you don't want to, there's no right time for anything. Maybe there's no being ready. Especially because when we think we're ready, we can always find an excuse.
It's too hard.
They'll make fun of me.
What if I don't like myself afterwards?
There's no right time. Instead, it's easier to just let go. But that's not easy, either, right? It's like sitting on the back of horse who doesn't want to slow down. You pull and pull and pull and nothing happens, but just maybe... If you let go, they'll slow down. They realize there's no opposition to run from, and they calm down. I don't want to say it, but it's time for me to drop my reins and let my horse slow down.I should know better.
People have told me to keep some information to myself. To keep quiet, because other people will be uncomfortable. I'm supposed to keep quiet because other people might be uncomfortable? That tastes like a bitter pill that got stuck in my throat and disintegrated there. It makes me feel sick.
They've made jokes before. They haven't understood what I've told them. People can be really cruel, but it's only because they don't try to open their arms and welcome others in. They're too closed off, so I guess the jokes shouldn't bother me because it's not personal. But they do. And I'm sure you've felt that way, too. Why is it we stare at each other with walls in our eyes, hoping to come out on top instead of walking up the stairs hand in hand?
I don't want to say it because I'm afraid of all of these things. I'm afraid that people will look at me different. I'm afraid they won't know what to do with me. I'm afraid they won't try to understand. I've been afraid of that for a long time, choosing my disclosure very carefully. I'm not ready and I'm convinced this isn't the right time... there never is a right time. My stomach hurts thinking about talking about it, like the monster of anxiety has woken up and is ready to play. He's twisting my insides, trying to tell me this isn't the right idea, but from everything I've learned - feeling this way means it is the right time. And I have to, again, jump from the metaphorical cliff that isn't so metaphorical and hope I land on two feet.
Maybe there's a lifeboat down there.
Celebrities speak out regularly about their mental illness. Transparent views into the lives of afflicted people help others learn the reality of mental illness. And we judge them, classify them, and decide to talk about them however we want. In all reality though, they're untouchable after speaking out. They're brave, they're strong, they're courageous. There's a woman who posted a picture of herself having an anxiety attack so people wouldn't glamorize the disease. I guess I'm like them; I just want someone to be able to understand a little better. If I can do that, then every moments worth of discomfort, hurt, and literal insanity is worth it.
There's nothing I can do about the way I am. My illness is in my brain, in the chemicals that are there. I cannot influence this without the use of medication which I am fluent in. Antidepressants? Send them my way. Mood stabilizers? Been there, tried that. Antipsychotics? Hey, the side effects are just as fun as the symptoms. Therapy? Mandatory depending on my state of mood. Doctors appointment's litter my calendar almost as frequently as meeting requests. Much like any other chronic illness, this one is organic and it makes friends with every part of me. So many lives touched by mental illness end in disability, suicide, and ruin.
For me?
I just want to do something important. I want to speak out loudly enough that someone else hears me - someone who thought no one understood. Someone who cringes when another person says the weather is bipolar. Or when somebody jokes that so and so is bipolar because they might be moody. I hate the word, I hate the way people use it. I am much more than a word.
Please bear with me and realize I'm new to this. Being open about my mental health, that is. But it's important, because there are some things that really need to be cleared up about bipolar disorder and the act of being diagnosed with it and I want to speak loudly enough to help.
There, I said it.
