Bipolar Disorder is the foundation of my mental health issues. I’ll preface this by saying that I was not diagnosed until I was 19 years old.
My mom says she should have noticed it when I was a kid because I had 2 nicknames. I was her sunshine and I was her stormcloud.
I continued to be her sunshine and very slowly started spackling over the storm clouds. I pretended to be happy all the time. By the time I hit middle school, I never looked how I felt. I’d succeeded in shrouding my serious depression in a family placating constant smile.
I have had my fair share of the mania caused by my bipolar disorder. But to me personally, the depression and subsequent 25 year death wish that I lived with have always been much more a struggle for me to deal with.
I have these little horror stories in me. Some of them I caused, I created and I kept. Some of them I only allowed to happen to me. No matter the source, the cause or consequence, I don’t want to keep these secrets in my chest anymore. So here is my first essay.