Defying Society’s Expectations Of My Bipolar Disorder
Trigger warning: This post contains sensitive topics such as mental illness.
You know from a very early age that something is wrong. You might not know what it is, or where it came from, but the fear is there.
I am the only daughter in my family. I have been surrounded my entire life by boys — my brothers and their friends. I do not remember a great deal about my childhood. Doctors explained to me that I blocked a lot of it out.
I have bipolar disorder. It manifested itself very young in my life with a disposition towards being a very whiney, anxious child.
I continued over the course of the early years of my life without having lots of friends. I was always busy having daily panic attacks, and girls my age were usually too busy doing their makeup or whatever it was that junior high girls did. I felt very alone in school. I had only a handful of friends. These were girls that I had known my whole life — those who were more or less stuck in my life, practically family. Girls thought I was weird. Boys thought I was weird. I, in turn, believed them. I shut myself off from others because it hurt to be denied constantly.
I remember thinking I was very ugly. I was always ghastly thin. I barely ate as my anxiety chewed at my stomach. I didn’t sleep enough. I didn’t wear make-up, nor did I really care for fashion. I look back and realize that I always looked a little sick. It doesn’t surprise me that people considered me weird, because I was.
Even as I was feeling low and scared, I had my own opinion, and I did not keep it to myself. I was very open with people about my mental illness. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but I didn’t go to school with a lot of good people. I wish I could go back and force my young self to relish in being different, but that kind of clarity did not come to me for quite a few years.
I didn’t date when I was young. It was for a variety of reasons, but I am pretty sure I know the main ones. I wasn’t content to be that perfect, normal girl. I went through a very long awkward phase, I was extremely open about the issues I had with depression and anxiety, but last and most of all, I did not want to be some high school jock’s girlfriend who dutifully stood by his side, keeping my mouth shut, ignoring my mental illness and my pension for chattiness.
I wanted to be me. True me, even if that meant a few years of being alone, feeling like boys were repelled by me and girls judged me. I was the girl with the weird episodes, the trips to the office, the days I didn’t even show up.
I didn’t really find myself until my senior year, when I became friends with a girl who is, to this day, so important to me. I’m lucky that fate sent us each other. She knew all about my problems, she knew every facet of my personality, and she appreciated that I was different. She listened to my opinion on the world, and she didn’t judge me for who I was.
She wasn’t the friend who told me that I wasn’t going to be able to go to college because of my mental illness. She wasn’t the one that told me not to call myself a feminist because people would think I was crazy — a person who burns bras, hates men, and doesn’t think women should be stay-at-home moms. My friend didn’t care about that. She was and still is a fierce believer in women’s rights, and I am blessed to have witnessed our transformation from young curious girls to citizens dedicated to equality. She has never been remotely unsupportive or judgemental about my personality.
I have never cared that people thought I was too aggressive as a woman, I was too “crazy” to do anything worthwhile, or too damaged to make a difference.
I continue to fight against my mental illness. I fight against a society that discriminates against women, especially when the woman in question is not considered a “whole” person. Everything I do is pre-judged based on the simple fact that my brain does not work the way every other person’s brain does. I continue to fight for what I believe, along with the help of some amazing people. I would not be the person I am today without the help of my friend — a woman who has picked me up hundreds of times and told me that I am not alone — and not without my mother, my amazingly beautiful angel of a mother. My mother has and always will believe in me. She has held my hand through tears, crying, completely and utter anger, illness, good times and bad. She stood next to me in hell. She has shown me that I can go after my dreams, even if some have said otherwise.
I continue to dream about my story doing some good in the future. I want to inspire people, women in particular, to believe in themselves. I want people to know that even if their brain is a little different, their opinions are worthwhile.
I think if I could go back to the scared little girl I used to be and show her what I have done, she would be proud; she would continue being just who she is because she knows that she will make those dreams come true, no matter what anyone thinks of her.
