“I can’t be bipolar.”
“And why is that?”
“Because SHE is. And SHE is crazy.”
“Well, I’m bipolar.”
A quick definition.
1. A mark or token of infamy, disgrace, or reproach.
Yep. That is about accurate. Mental illness has been one the many skeletons in our deep closets of cultural climate. And like most of these skeletons, we can’t change that they exist. With this one though, there are things we can do to hide it.
We can medicate it. We can therapize it. We can pretend it isn’t there so long that sometimes even those of us with the condition can forget about it entirely, but it is still there.
So when something happens in our heads or in our lives that reactivates it? We feel guilty. Bad. Not strong enough. Not dedicated enough. Not smart enough to fight our own brains in a war only our brain was meant to win.
And we get scared to tell the truth . . . because it means we ARE bad and weak and guilty of this stigma.
We. Are. Crazy.
My goal with the following entries will be to release this stigma. As I am the creator of the content that will follow, I can really only work on my own head. As they say, I can only keep my side of the street clean. But if you feel inclined, read the words presented, and see if they can help you accept yourselves, and those around you, just a little more.
When we kill the stigma, only then can we heal. And when we can heal, there is absolutely no telling what we’ll be able to do for the world.