Yes I look OK, yes I act OK. But you don’t see the fucked up mess behind the fake smile.
I have no clue about who or what I am. I am a
If there is a Jekyll and Hyde then I am he.
I am good and bad
I am pretty and I am ugly
There are two sides to me and which you see all depends upon my mood
I don’t get to choose which person I am
I can be the same person for a day, a week a month or a few months. Then like a light switch being flicked, I change, without warning.
Can you imagine waking each morning not knowing which person your going to be today? I do, every morning.
Just when I think I am getting better, it raises its ugly head and takes me as its prisoner again. My medications have been changed again, this time the strength has been doubled. My illness is powerful and its winning the medication.
I don’t have control over any aspect of my life.
My bank account was closed a few months ago because I am no longer able to have responsibility over our income. I can not be trusted. I no longer deal with the bills.
I am too afraid to be left alone for long periods and worse still be alone with my own children.
I am no monster, I have never hurt anyone, expect myself. Am I a danger to others? Truthfully yes I am if placed in a situation where I feel threatened.
My illness makes me this way. My illness makes me want to punish and harm myself. It makes me react in ways I don’t realize.
The past haunts me and the thoughts to hurt my children hound me, plague me and although I understand it was not me, not really me but the illness, it still affects me to this day. It is a time in my past I can not forget. The guilt eats away at my flesh.
I don’t feel safe in my own skin. If my husband pops out, even to the shop I go into overdrive. If I have to go out then I need him to phone me or have someone with me. I am trapped.
I can never describe bipolar.
Some days I feel human, I feel normal, I feel alive. I then have the reminder that I have to take Tramadol, a drug I depend on to calm my anxiety. Despite my mood stabilisers, I am not able to leave the house without a stash of extra pills in my pocket. I do not feel safe without them. I am not prescribed them, I have a secret stash.
This is my life. This is who I have become. Bipolar has a lot to answer for.
