When I was fifteen years old, I embarrassed myself. It was not my intention, but despite my efforts to fit in with the crowd, I did not. No one wished to be close to me. No one wished to date me. I had few friends, but that year, I behaved so strangely that I am not surprised. Though there are people in my life who love me unconditionally, they had trouble keeping up with me as I followed a dark, blinding path. They trod close behind me into deep, cold waters, and we faced much confusion. I was certain that there was something “wrong” with me, but the mania colored the waters a bright, sunny blue; the path full of light and life. It was dangerous, false happiness fueled by an incessant flow of high energy.
I do not recall most of my freshman year of high school. Broken pieces of memories flood my mind when I think about those days. I talked more than I walked. It never stopped. My mind spit out all of my thoughts, without a filter. My speech was slurred, and words tumbled over each other on their mission to escape my mouth. I spent money frivolously. Quicksand pulled me under, in the form of credit card debt. Free money!! No.
I stayed up late, believing that sleep was a waste of time. My handwriting became sloppy and scribbly. I was more creative, finished projects early, was never late, and had excellent grades. I overextended myself, made promises I could not keep. I was never hungry and didn’t have time in my day devoted to eating.
I knew something was “off,” but had no idea it could be fixed. I thought I was stuck this way forever. I appealed to my parents for help, and my dad drove me to a psychiatrist, where I was diagnosed with bipolar 1 disorder. It was the greatest sense of relief I had ever felt in my life, even to this day. I could not be cured, but I could be treated. There was nothing to be ashamed about, no reason to be embarrassed, and I wasn’t alone! I will never forget that day, because it was the beginning of a story I would someday tell the world.
–SJB