Looking in the mirror this morning, I lean back on my chair for a new angle and gaze into my reflection. The question that comes nearly every morning arises, creeping slowly from the back of my mind where I try and hide it.
Who am I?
This should be a straightforward question, answered simply with your name and perhaps some defining features that make you the individual you are. You could be Terry, an accounting major with four siblings and a Mustang. Perhaps you are Morgan, and you work at Wendy’s, but on weekends you are a freelance artist.
Yet when I think about this question, the first thought that comes to mind is “What swing is going to be present today?”
As someone who has lived with bipolar II disorder her whole life, questioning my self identity has been a daily ritual, a weekly meltdown, and a yearly evaluation of which mood was most present. It is something that a lot or even most people don’t understand, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anybody.
Let us go back to the question of who I am. Rather than having one set persona, I feel as though every swing I put on a new mask. For a week or so perhaps I will be hyper and peppy the entire time, with more energy than I know what to do with. Personally, this is my favorite me. Other swings I will slip into a depression that will leave me bedridden, or else I will become so irritated and angry that I won’t want to talk to anyone in fear of hurting them beyond what I can control.
Although I am on mood stabilizers, I have never known the real me.
While a lot of times I feel as though I am not behaving irrationally in one direction or another, I have not and cannot ever be sure whether or not it is me being in a swing or if I am actually being like other mentally stable human beings for once in my life. As much as I want to believe that I am nice and that I am happy, there’s always a part of me that knows that thanks to the chemicals in my brain, I will eventually slip into another swing and put on another mask for a while until my brain decides what to wear next.
What is it like to know who you are?
Even as a young girl growing up in a society where we were constantly subjected to body standards and gender roles, I was never sure what to be. My mind and my clothing taste said tomboy, but magazines and television told me pink, dresses, and learning how to do things for the better of my home rather than to focus on a career. I went through many phases throughout middle school. For two years I was part of the emo scene, a good three years of prep, and finally settling on an average-dressing art student.
Social wise, I still don’t know exactly where I fit in. They say you should try and not to fit in, that you should be yourself. As much as this is said, though, there is a certain group of people or sense of fashion or some other societal habit that draws you to become something that others have paved the road for. It leads to you eventually figuring it all out—who you want to be and who you are becoming.
I don’t think my mind could wrap around the concept of figuring it out. Even if I think I find some sort of middle ground and stop having mood swings due to some miracle sent by the heavens themselves, I don’t think I ever will believe that I am this person because of this reason.
I fear that I will forever wear a mask, that I will never be able to peel off layer after layer of feeling and hiding and find the flesh beneath it all. I fear that I will never feel like a normal human being because of this. I fear that I am never going to be myself in a world that keeps telling me to be myself.
Dare I ask again, who am I?
I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I ever come to find out.
