The day I casually dropped the B word in a conversation, my friends looked at me like I’d just announced I was secretly royalty. Bipolar? YOU? Their disbelief was almost flattering. Part of me wanted to hand out popcorn and watch their reactions unfold like a plot twist in a telenovela. Of course, I just grinned back, having a 'Mission Accomplished' moment. Keeping my brain’s rollercoaster ride under wraps for so long? That’s an achievement worthy of a standing ovation.
But here’s the thing—I don’t want to be anyone’s best-kept secret. Some days, I want to scream, not in a horror-movie way, but in a let-me-just-release-this-overwhelming-chaos kind of way. I want to pull off an Oscar-winning breakdown, dramatic sobs included, minus the luxury of a director yelling ‘cut’ when it’s too much. Because real life doesn’t come with a script or convenient commercial breaks.
And yet, I hesitate. Because I don’t want to be that person—the one everyone tiptoes around, like I come with a warning label: Handle with Care, Prone to Meltdowns. I don’t want my diagnosis to become my defining trait, like a permanent price tag declaring, “On Sale: Bipolar, With Bonus Mood Swings and Occasional Existential Crises!”
No, thank you. I didn’t sign up for a pity party. I signed up to live—to chase my dreams, crack jokes, and maybe take over the world (or at least, the world within my reach). Because despite my mind's limited-time-only emotional discounts, I still have bills to pay, deadlines to meet, and Wi-Fi to reconnect when it mysteriously stops working at 2 AM.
But here’s the kicker—what happens if I actually reach the summit of my dreams? Will I have enough energy to pop the champagne and do a victory dance? Or will I just stand there, hands on my knees, gasping for breath like I barely survived a Zumba class? Imagine working my whole life for a dream, only to reach the top and mutter, Well, that was anticlimactic.
Then again, maybe that’s the point. Maybe life is just a series of overwhelming highs and crushing lows, with a few awkward pauses in between where we just stand around, trying to make sense of it all. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need a perfect fairytale ending. Maybe just making it through the messy, unpredictable plot twists is victory enough.
So, until I figure it all out, I’ll keep juggling my dual life—part secret agent, part regular human disaster. And for those still coming to terms with my bipolar revelation, by all means, keep the dramatic gasps coming! It does wonders for my self-esteem. Who knows? I might just be your next favorite superhero:
"Captain Bipolar: Master of Emotional Waves, Defender of Bad Life Choices, and Occasional Overthinker."
Catchy, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a city to save… or at least a coffee to finish before the next mood swing kicks in.
){kind=link}
0 Comments