Still Here

handmade greeting card, collage artEvery once in a while, I like to throw out the factoid that most of the folks with my type of bipolar disorder (rapid cycling with mixed states) are either in group homes or institutionalized.  It’s one of those literary conceits meant to shock the reader.  It also provides a nice rationale for whatever craziness I happen to be experiencing at the moment.  Generally, I don’t think too much about it.

But yesterday, my friend Vivien at Manic Muses wrote about coming home after a week in hospital, recovering from a mixed state.  As she described her symptoms, my mouth went dry.  Holy shite, I thought, that’s my life.

I forget.  I forget that the prognosis is so poor for my type of bipolar disorder because a majority of sufferers choose suicide as a treatment.  I forget that I’m sort of a miracle.

Today, I’m thinking it’s okay that I’m overweight.  It’s okay that I’m anti-social and a pain in the ass.  It’s okay that I burst into tears in the locker room yesterday with a couple of my swim buddies holding me.  It’s okay that I fight with my compulsions and lose.

Because I’m free, and I’m still here.

This is my 601st post.  That seems like a big deal, too.

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