Coming Out Bipolar

Never let it be said that my madness has not given me gifts.

Glorious highs have come from my disorder. Though I have not yet experienced a true manic episode, my hypomanic phases have been some of the happiest times of my life. I have felt like a superhero. I have gone days without sleep, aced tests that I couldn't get a C on now, worked shift after shift without feeling an ounce of burnout that should have been piled upon me...

I have had some of the best moments of my life because of my illness, as pathetic as that might be to some.

But the places it has taken me have not always been good. I have looked into a mirror and hated myself with such passion that it has terrified me. I have been suicidal. I have contemplated strange and dangerous pursuits like prostitution with as much forethought as some people take when deciding to stop by Barnes and Noble on the way home from work. I have harmed myself. I have been physically aggressive towards those I love. I have lain in bed for days and considered it a triumph that I hadn't yet got up the energy to end it all.

Coming out of the closet has many connotations, both socially and personally, for me. I identify as a heterosexual female, but much of my life I have shoved and pushed into a small corner of my mind, and prayed no one noticed. Well, they have. Bits and pieces here and there.

And they have loved me anyway. Not everyone, of course. But enough. Oh, enough.

I am mad. But I am not alone.

This will be the outlet for some of my thoughts and musings on my madness, and explaining, both to myself and possibly to others, what the true reality of Bipolar Disorder can be, for me.

Thank you.