"I often sit on the bus wondering if I am normal. If everyone feels so strongly about feeling strongly. But I suppose not everyone is blessed to know the mess, havoc and clarity of mania.
Nobody ever tells you what a relief it is to be diagnosed. Suddenly a neat label can excuse your behaviour to your ex-boyfriend and your mother and yourself. The label is versatile; it can explain away the scars and anxiety, the rare moments of severe elation and the prolonged periods of sleeplessly lying in bed. It explains the hibernation as you lay waiting for something to feel or resonate or catapult you out of your own fucking mind.
I find it hard to differentiate between symptoms of my illness and being a general asshole of a human being.
The feeling of hopelessness may just be a phase we all have, but for me and others like me it is also an absolute reality. For some, I will always simply be a bipolar asshole and while I say I don’t care what those “some” think, I am lying. I don’t want this illness to define me but I am not me without it.
I am and always will be inadequate.
I am a victim of my own moods, they are my symptoms and for some reason, that simply isn’t real enough for some people. As human beings, is there anything more real than the way we feel?”
This finnaly explains everything about me."