I’m coming out

I lie.  I lie to myself.  I lie to others.  A lot.  Mostly to hide from myself.  So here are some truths:

I eat.  I am a people-pleaser.  I cheat.  I spend.  I hide.  I run.  I laugh.  I binge.  I sing.  I’ve done so many things that I am not proud of.  I smile.  I cry.  I love.  I hate.  I dream.  I judge.  I hope.  I wonder if I’m enough.  I get low; really, really low.  I wonder if my boys love me.  I envy.  Mania takes me higher than the clouds.  I’m loud.  I do not feel smart.  I wonder if my parents are proud of me.  I can’t relax – it’s a waste of time.  I seek comfort in physical objects, only to be left unfulfilled.  I wonder why my sister and I aren’t close.  I exaggerate.  Do I have any real friends?  I need to stay busy – be as productive as possible.  I’m a coward – I follow the crowd most of the time.  There isn’t a time when I’m not comparing myself to others – they’re better, fitter, nicer, happier, smarter.  I’m irrational.  I can see my illness, as much as I feel it.  I wonder why my husband loves me.  I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel the way I do.  I’m a pretty big bitch.  I wonder what it would be like to sleep forever.  I’m a hopeless romantic who reads trashy romance.  I’m almost always intimidated so I do my best to intimidate others.  Why do I make plans, only to immediately wish I hadn’t?  I don’t remember ever loving myself; I definitely don’t like myself.  I hold grudges.  I’m impulsive.  I regret most things I do and say almost immediately.  There’s not a person in this world that I feel I can reveal my deepest, darkest demons to.  I don’t know what I believe in.  I don’t know what makes me happy.  I’m forgetful.  I’m bossy.  I just want to sleep.  I wonder if everyone would be better off without me.  I wonder what its like to be free of my mind and the roller coaster it can’t seem to escape.

Medicine helps, but it’s all still there… deep down, waiting to spill over my edges.  Speaking of edges, I’m always on one.  One foot firm, the other unstable. My head and heart never in sync – is anyone’s ever?  Why does every one else have their shit together? The rational part of my brain knows that no one’s life is perfect.  But fuck – it’s got to be better than this, right? I have everything someone could dream of – an amazingly devoted husband, my kids are the coolest dudes I know, I make a shit ton of money (that I quickly spend), we live in a nice place, we have clothes and food and more shit than we need [I need to declutter] so I shouldn’t be sick. I shouldn’t be sad.  There’s nothing to be upset about.  I have so much to live for.  Yet I wonder, more than I care to admit, whether I’m worth more dead than alive.

So this is me; I’m coming out.  I’m going to say all the things I need to say.  I’m going to get it all out, here, for whomever reads it.  Here comes the purge – maybe if I get it all out, I can start to heal – I can find myself, because I don’t think I’ve ever really known her.

And if no one reads this, I guess my secrets will be safe with me.

Here’s another truth:  I have bipolar disorder.  It’s hard.  It’s ugly.  It’s part of me – but only a part.  Everyday is a struggle to keep my head above water.  Everyday I have to remember that I have bipolar disorder – it doesn’t have me.

I T  D O E S  N O T  H A V E  M E.

I am fighting back. Little by little.  Some days I fight harder than others.  Some days my sun shines so brightly.  Some days, I just want to stay in bed.  And I will.  And then I’ll get back up the next day and the next until my sunshine eclipses my darkness.