I decided I didn’t want to be bipolar anymore.
After a week of all-nighters, copious amounts of stress, a fight with my psychiatrist, and extreme homesickness, I decided this was not who I wanted to be.
So, I stopped all of my medications.
You can imagine how that went. I began rapid cycling, experiencing mania, depression, hypomania, and a mixed state all within 48 hours. I didn’t eat for days. The withdrawals were brutal. Nauseous and shaking, I laid on the bathroom floor and just cried. I relapsed into self-harm again and I’ve had to keep myself surrounded by people to keep myself safe.
I guess I was just trying to find the girl that existed before the first psychotic break. The girl that wasn’t bipolar, or diagnosed with OCD, or didn’t struggle with symptoms of PTSD. I convinced myself that if I went back to the roots of myself – unmedicated, wholly my own mind – that I would find her and that happiness again.
Instead, my shoulder keeps bleeding on my top, I’m pale and shaking, and my manager sent me home early because he thought I might pass out. I’m sick to my stomach and struggling to keep my emotions in check.
My psychologist tells me all the time that its bipolar 101 to A) take your medications and B) get enough sleep. I’ve failed at all of that this week because I’ve simply refused to accept that I have bipolar disorder…because I so desperately want to be normal and healthy. I don’t want to be afraid that the other half of me will rear its ugly head tomorrow. I want to feel confident in making new relationships, and not terrified that my mood swings will scare everyone away. I want my mind to heal, because it feels very broken right now.
Maybe yours does, too. If it does, I am so sorry. I want you to know that, from experience, I know that time does mend these wounds. The process hurts like hell, but it gets better. Just keep pushing. Take good care of yourself and let others help. You’re never alone. Someday, we’ll all heal. It may not be today, but someday.
Head above water.