I don’t want to hear how we all have our bad moods. I don’t want to hear you to tell me that you think you are bipolar too, because you occasionally feel emotions. You get happy and you get sad. So do I, that's not what I am talking about when I say I’m bipolar. I don’t need to hear you tell me I am melodramatic and emotionally indulgent because I answer you honestly when you ask me how I feel. What would you rather hear? I’m great, except right now my mind is racing so fast I can’t keep track of my thoughts, your voice sounds tinny and far away, I see you through a tunnel of light, and my skin feels like a million bugs are crawling on it. I’m fine. Don’t ask if you don’t want to really know. I never asked you to ask and I never asked you to pretend you care.
How about this, did you know that when I’m hysterical I want to be dramatic, that I do this for the attention it brings. I mean doesn’t everyone loves labels and loves being ostracized.
When I am lying in bed and I can’t get up it’s because I don’t appreciate what I have.
When my dad cheats on my mom, has depression and goes through his midlife crisis, it’s because of what I put them all through.
I am just angry, and it’s not the kind of anger that you can put a tick next to it on your DSM IV checklist. It’s the “normal” non-psychopath anger you all experience when your needs are not being satisfied.
I’m fed up of studying really hard and getting manic right before my exams and not being able to answer the questions I know so well because my mind is in a state of utter confusion. I’m always going to fall short of my expectations.
I don’t need to hear you telling me how I’m bipolar and I can’t handle living a totally normal life.
I’m angry that when I tell my mother I’m in a bit of a bad mood, and I can hear her heart skip a beat scared that I’m going to kill myself or cut myself, or do something really stupid.
I’m angry that you can’t see that other than the episodes, my emotions are as normal and justified as yours.
I’m angry when you don’t acknowledge my condition
I’m angry when I have to acknowledge it.
I’m angry that there is a checklist and label for who I am and that label strips my sense identity. Down to it I’m just angry because I don’t know where I start and where the bipolar ends.
Bp stands for bipolar not for British Petroleum, but that doesn’t mean that I have no rage against BP and what it’s doing environmentally and otherwise. For more information: http://www.resist.org.uk/reports/archive/bp_russia/index.php
3 comments:
I'm going to assume you're being sarcastic in the middle of your post talking about not being able to get out of bed because you don't appreciate what you have and when your father cheats on your mom and has a mid-life crisis it's because of you. If this was sarcasm it was very dry and I don't know you so forgive me if I fail to grasp it immediately.
Well, I guess the obvious observation I have from your post is that YES! you are pissed off. You raised some valid points about when does bipolar end and you begin (I have posted the exact same thought on my blog) and also how bipolars are not allowed to have emotions as people in their immediate circle of "support" get scared and try to control them w/ hospitalizations/more meds.
I also wanted to thank you for posting on my blog, and bookmarking it.
Its totally sarcastic, but I must admit that as much as I was being sarcastic in my post as much as there have been times where I believed that there was some truth in these statement. I'm sure there will come days where I will be believing that.
I just started this blog a few days ago, mainly because I'm slightly manic and I started reading ppl's blogs and was really enjoying the communication. I really liked reading your blog, you have a certain sense of humor that I relate to and I felt I related to a lot of stuff you had written about.
thanks
(insert cliched emoticon symbolizing mirth here)
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