Mental disorders weren't something we grew up talking about. That stuff only happens to those "other families." My parents always told me that my will was stronger than other people and I could single-handedly defeat those inner demons that would cause me to spout out in fits of anger and rage and afterwards cause me to wallow in the comfort of my bed for weeks on end. They kept insisting I was just fine and that I would eventually grow out of all my moodiness.
I didn't. According to my psychiatrist of six years, my diagnosis is "Bipolar Disorder, not otherwise specified" - which may or may not mean I actually have 'legit' bipolar disorder, but that I clearly suffer some of the same effects. It's all rather confusing to me. Being diagnosed with bipolar isn't the worst thing in the world that can happen. In fact, I only wish I had stuck to my guns after high school and started seeing a real therapist instead of waiting until I was sitting, sobbing and screaming at the top of my lungs like a spoiled toddler in my parents' living room at the age of 26.
That part when I stubbornly refused to take the tissue offered to me to blow my nose and decided it would be best to just snort the mucus down my throat, which caused me to choke and cough it all over myself? Yeah. That's a memory I wish I no longer had. If I didn't, I would never have written that for people to share in my disgust. It's amazing how much recollection I have of that specific day to even the birth of my only child. My aggression/anxiety/mania caused so much hyper-focus that day that I cannot forget it - however much I want to. I kept repeatedly yelling at my mother, "I NEED HELP! Can't you see that I'm CRAZY?!"
The 'crazy' part stuck.
It's strange to experience one of these 'episodes' I have. There is a part of me that seems to stay behind and tries to rationalize with the part that experiences this influx of emotions. I always-ALWAYS-remember what I said and/or did to someone else even if I have zero control of what I am saying and/or doing at the moment. The emotional side wins more often than not. This means that the part of me that knows my behavior is reprehensible, but sees/hears what's happening and knows that I am not supposed to do it. Inevitably, it also means that I do my fair share of groveling and begging for mercy. I am constantly apologizing to my family and friends over actions I have little control over.
Some control is better than none at all, though. I just need to discover how to find more of it.
