My Bipolar Life

Being bipolar can be really fucking hard sometimes.  If you regularly read my blog, you know that I try to not let the bipolar get me down.  I do not let it define me.  I look for any positives that may exist because of the bipolar.  None of this changes the reality that it can be so excruciatingly, devastatingly hard.  When these bad times hit I kind of feel like I am treading water in deep water.  Am I drowning?  No.  I don't need to be rescued but I am getting tired in the deep water so a little assistance would be nice.  I have friends and family that help me all the time.  For that I will always be grateful.  I think that I have so much support because I am a genuinely good friend.  I am there when needed, always. The key to these friendships is longevity.  These friends and family members know me at my worst and they love me nonetheless.  I am very lovable at my best.  Luckily, I am my best self most of the time so I have all of these people who are there when I am at my wo

Sometimes I wonder where the bipolar lets off and my personality enters.  I am not only bipolar;  I am a women who loves hard and trusts easily.  My trusting nature causes me to get hurt easily because I can easily be taken advantage of by others.  I let people in too close to my heart and don't protect myself enough.  All of these things can be huge problems and my heart hurts today because of it.  Is my naive nature because of the bipolar, because of my upbringing or just because this is the person I was born to be? I was called psycho and poison last night.  I was told that I have accomplished nothing in my life because I am 41 and all I do is work at McDonald's.  I know some of you may think I should have responded with a big "Fuck you, you know nothing", but the reality is that she knows me fairly well.  I would say we were friends but does a friend hit you so far below the belt?  Dan tells me to let it go because her opinion means nothing but I just keep hear

Billy leaves for college in exactly one month.  I think reality has just hit me, he is really leaving.  Sitting here now, this is the first time that tears have come to my eyes thinking about it.  I always knew this day would come and I am so proud but I don't know that I am ready, after all.  I don't know that I am ready to be done parenting him but the reality is that whether he stays here or goes, that time of my life is gone.  The ship has sailed, he isn't a baby anymore.  He is a man and I need to trust that I have made enough good decisions and given him enough tools to be a good man, a loyal man, a kind man.  The type of man that any date would be proud to introduce to their parents.  I think I have done these things but time will tell. Unless you have seen your child move on and move out, it is probably very hard to understand the bittersweet feelings that I have.  I know that everyone told me that it all goes by so quickly but I don't think anyone truly beli

As I navigate my way through school, I am afforded a lot of opportunities to write about mental illness issues.  I am preparing to write a paper about the treatment of the mentally ill in prison.  I feel so passionate about all issues that the mentally ill face.  I feel protective of anyone with mental illness.  I feel like I am part of an exclusive club that few understand.  I don't love that I understand this club but I do, very well. What I wonder about my passion for mental health issues is would I feel this way if I wasn't mentally ill?  Would I care at all?  Would my passion even be compassion for those who faced these very serious illnesses?  Sadly, I think it would not.  I think I wouldn't feel anything at all towards the mentally ill.  I also feel that this is not okay.  Why does one's activism come from their own adversity?  Does this make me and every other new found advocate a hypocrite?  Is our activism fake?   Maybe that is why we are given adversity i