Just cause I might want to do my hair like this again
this doesnt even need a caption… every girl knows what this is…
i will never not reblog. its too accurate
wait do girls really go in those weird half standing positions and stand on their heads type deal???
Did the half standing on my head bit today, actually.
On the first day class of my freshman year of college, my political science professor assigned us to go around and discuss something we were passionate about. After going off on a rant for my love for all things Africa, the girl next to me spoke of her journey dealing with bipolar disorder. While telling her story, I sunk into my seat, wondering if I would experience one of her mood swings. Throughout the semester, I refrained from saying anything too controversial in order to keep her from having a manic outburst.
Months later, I found myself in a psychiatrist’s office, having a psychiatric evaluation.
Rapid thoughts? Yes.
History of depression? Yes.
Are you ever overly spontaneous? One time, I stayed at a nunnery because I wanted to know what they were like. They made me chicken pie and sat with me on a hammock.
Suicidal? Does praying for the rapture every night count?
Do you ever stay up really late? Well sometimes.
Like when? Like…when I cover my walls with Sticky Notes in the middle of the night while working on a story. Blue for characterization, orange for plot, and yellow notes for themes. With thoughts moving 90 MPH, it’s easy to finish five chapters before my 7AM alarm goes off. Oh! And I turned my parent’s water heater room into an art studio. So, some nights I’ll start painting something and look back at the clock to realize that I’ve been painting for eight hours. As I answered the questions, she feverishly took notes, giving a blank stare.
Quietly, she scurried through her files, grabbing a stapled packed for me.On the first page in WordArt font,
What Is Type Two Bipolar?
While bipolar I includes episodes of severe depression and full-blown mania, bipolar I is something that physicians rarely miss. With psychotic thoughts, elated moods, superhuman energy, and reckless judgment, mania is never subtle. While bipolar II involves hypomania, a lesser form of mania, it makes the disease much harder to diagnose. Often times, it is mistaken for depression. As anti-depressants can lead to hypomanic episodes, this misdiagnosis is dangerous.
During hypomania, you are unable to complete a thought before another comes and runs over the first. Imagine feeling this way every day for a week or a month or a few months, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After that, insomnia sets in along with your inability to settle down or focus on anything. Then, you feel passionately compelled to write six chapters of novel before your alarm sounds at 7AM. Somehow, you manage to finish before 3AM. Then, you start brainstorming your first global street art activism movement. You cover your walls with sticky notes, detailing various art movements. By 7AM, you have written a twelve-page research paper, just for fun. Even though you are running on zero hours of sleep, it feels like you are running on six or seven. To outsiders, it seems glamorous, exhilarating. After all, you are sharing a disease with literary geniuses like Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath. However, there’s another side to the disease that often goes explored. Depression.
Society has a tendency to associate bipolar disorder with mania or hypomania, failing to see that it is merely a component of the illness. On average, people with bipolar spend two thirds of their lives in a state of depression. You go from feeling on top of the world to being incapable of getting out of bed in the morning. Due to the long periods of depression that are involved in bipolar disorder, those who are untreated are twenty times more likely than the general population to take their own lives. Depression often involves inability to concentrate, remember or make decisions. Even things like what to make for dinner can seem like the most overwhelming thing in the world. With your indecisiveness, your parent’s will be thankful that you aren’t spending so much money on Goodwill clothing and broken typewriters. Sometimes, you might read international news articles or revel on your past because being depressed without a reason is hard to explain to people.
Every day, I am tempted to question every emotion. What is this? Am I happy or am I hypomanic? Is this honest sadness or am I loosing my mind? What is different now than yesterday? Often times, people will mistake your illness with your personality. At certain points, you might feel compelled to go to therapy twice a week just to process through your emotions and ten page journal entries. Your therapist says that she’s impressed by your self-awareness. But to you, it’s paralyzing. When you tell your psychiatrist that you fear happiness and she doesn’t have a response, feel free to fire her. While dealing with bipolar, happiness can become as frightening as your fear of clowns and a zombie apocalypse. It’s hard to tell when happiness is just happiness or if it’s a precursor to a period of sleepless nights that involve making ten mugs in the ceramic studio or writing a novel about a teenage girl with a time machine.
The danger in knowing of your disease is that it tempts you to define yourself by your brain chemistry and the number of the prescriptions and bills your psychiatrist hands you each month. While living with bipolar, it’s easy to make your life revolve around learning your triggers, filling in mood charts, and making appointments on time. The longer I cope with bipolar, the more I realize that our society is as ignorant as I was on that first day of my political science class. Which is why it’s taken three years for me to write about or admit to having this disease. I hate the label and the idea of people thinking that I’m crazy. But, I am blessed to have an amazing support system. I’m at a place of accepting my disease as a piece of me and using my story to remove the stigma of mental illness. God is using it for something far greater than myself.
Men with their hair in buns- come at me.