So… I was told that I was brittle. That I had a form of bipolar that should be treated differently. Because brittle.
Brittle is a word I use for something that is easily broken. Old, worn. Fragile. It is no surprise, upon further investigation, that the word is rarely used to describe someone with bipolar. According to what I was told and what I’ve read, someone who has brittle bipolar is generally unreceptive to medications, swings quickly from depression to mania when prescribed anti-depressants and can relapse quickly without warning into either states of mind.
This describes me.
It is hard to admit this. It is hard to admit that I stand on the edge of a cliff. At all times. Am I overthinking this? It is highly possible. Now I am feeling like I need to be hyper-aware of my ‘moods’. Ready to defend them. Ready to fob them off. Ready to admit to them.
Then there is the excuse part. Do I excuse my feelings because of this. I have noted changes in my mood today already. Is this because I understand more about my self? Or am I looking for an excuse, a compromise.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not brittle. I am not a wallflower. I am not fragile. But only I truly know my self and I know this to be true. Have I hidden for this long? I remember being called a delightful assortment of names (namely ‘weirdo’, ‘crazy’ etc) even in primary school. I don’t like thinking about things like this. I want to normalize it and say that it was ‘general kid behaviour’. And what the kids said was ‘generally what kids say’.
So I will chalk that up to that.
The visions have started again. Even though my meds were upped. How can that be? I hate my peripheral buddies. Dark and ominous. Always right there. My volume button goes up and all of a sudden I am hearing things I don’t ‘usually’. The earth. The world. The universe. I am nothing in this universe. A mere speck. How can a speck make a difference? Does this particular speck want to make a difference?
My dreams are vapid yet sensory. I feel like I am awake all night, experiencing the spectacle that is my imagination. I have an alternate life there. Sometimes they carry on, from one moment or day to the next, often it is a new story. I find it unbelievable that I can survive like this, it is taking all of my energy to remain aware all of the time. Even when I am asleep.
Talk to me, Don't talk to me 