Valentine's heart shaped cakes, invincible summers, and how much of a bitch our internal voice can be

 {via.}

Back in 2010, I talked a lot about the Darkness. I went through a pretty rough time back then, and even though I did again this past fall, I didn't want to talk about it as much to my friends, to my family, and to you guys.  That was a bad decision. I should have opened up. I should have made it clear how much I was hurting. I should have asked for help.

There was one person I turned to. In September, I started seeing a therapist. It was hard, because my family had always seemed like a strictly don't-need-outside-help family. But by turning to a complete stranger, I discovered something I probably never would have found out otherwise: I was not the first person in my family to see a therapist, and I won't be the last.

But those stories aren't mine to tell.

It was such a relief to know I had my family's support behind me though, because what I learned next made me realize that I needed, and still need, all the support available to me.

As my therapist got to know me, he sent me to a psychiatrist. He dropped hints for why, but it wasn't until the psychiatrist said "Do you know what Bi-Polar Disorder is?" that I realized I was being diagnosed with something significant and long-lasting.

I didn't tell anyone what they told me immediately. I needed to digest it on my own; I didn't want anyone else's opinions influencing what I thought. A couple weeks later, I started reaching out to people, but abruptly stopped again. I was told, by a well-meaning individual, to stop sharing. That this disorder was something no one else should know about me, because it would change what they thought of me.

Well, to hell with anyone who's opinion has changed. Because, frankly, this is who I've been for a long time; longer than most people have known me.

I will be honest: learning that I have Bi-Polar scared the hell out of me at first.  BUT when I thought about it, I realized it explained so much:

• The writing sprints I went on during  high school where I didn't sleep for nights in a row but instead stayed up writing then went to school the next day, not tired at all.
•  The crushing weeks at a time when I didn't want to have friends anymore and only went out because I felt obligated.
• In college, my total inability to get out of bed for anything for weeks, followed by weeks when I would not only go to class but would participate, would do all my work for the whole semester, and still find time for friends.
• My weird habit of making tons of friends and keeping up with all of them for a while, followed by pushing them all away and cutting them out by any means possible.

So, I'm not really any different now, except that I know what's going on, and I know why. Though BPD is scary (and anyone who has it knows why), it's such a relief for me to know, because now I feel like I can handle it.

In late September, I hit a low point. I came out of it by late November/early December but I knew that it would come back for me soon because of the stress of moving. I hit an up cycle in early January, and it lasted until the crushing frustration of not having a real place to live and feeling a little unwelcome in DC. After weeks of seeing ALL THE APARTMENTS, there were several days when all I had the energy to do was sit on my friend's couch, watching reruns of Bones, and eating Valentine's heart shaped cakes.

Now that I have a place to live and a little furniture to sit on, I'm doing a little better. I'm still a little lower than normal, mood-wise, but I can make myself get out of bed, and I'm not going through a box of cakes a day. My feelings are still hurt more easily than normal, and I'm incredibly sensitive to rejection: two symptoms that I know mean I'm not doing well.

But I know things will level out soon. I'll feel better as spring and then summer comes, and maybe I'll hit a manic stage where I want to DO ALL THE THINGS and GO TO ALL THE PLACES, but things will chill out again. And now that my boyfriend knows, a few of my friends know, and my family knows, there are people who can bring my attention to what's going on when I don't notice it myself.

So I guess what I'm trying to say here is this: Acknowledging that something is going on is hard; seeing a therapist for the first time was hard. But it's harder to do battle on your own. Because when you have depression or bi-polar disorder, it is a battle -- it's a daily battle to not listen to the voice in your head that tells you that you're not good enough, to just give up, to withdraw or to do something stupid. It's feeling like you're stuck out in the cold alone, with only the terrible things you tell yourself when you're at your worst to keep you company.

That voice in your head is a bitch some times. And frankly, a liar.

So you need your back up. If people tell you not to tell, don't listen to them. Always tell. Tell someone what you're feeling. Even if you think they won't care. Even if you've never met them. Hell, tell me. In fact, I'd love for you to tell me, because then we can fight this together.

And if people's opinions of you change, fuck them. Chances are, this has always been part of your personality, at least a little. Don't let the fear of judgment stop you from taking care of yourself. As Albert Camus once said, "In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer."

Find that invincible summer. And if you can't, let someone help you.