My name is Malakoa, and I have bipolar disorder

I decided to share at the Valentines Event that I had bipolar.  I didn’t start out meaning to, but after a woman who has had a way worse life than anyone else there shared about it, I decided to do so.

Funny, though, how much we were able to relate to each other.  My life has been charmed compared to her’s.  I’ve never had to give a child up for adoption.  I’ve never shot heroin or smoked crack.  I’ve never fallen for a guy in that I met during my outpatient drug program.  However, I have taken abilify, and so has she.  I’ve drank myself silly.  I’ve spent two weeks in the hospital.  All of that gives me some sort of credibility.  Emotional pain goes beyond barriers.  We feel it the same so matter how beautiful, poor or smart we are.

The mental health floor is the great equalizer.  Even if you don’t have insurance of your own the county will pay for your stay.  I’ve met all sorts of folks.  Some of us were doped out of our mind, but some of us weren’t.  I could go on and on about our differences, but there is no reason to.  Even if we’ve made a suicide attempt we respect each other (mostly.)  There are not put downs.  No one asks, “How could you do such a thing.”  No one calls us “selfish”.  Most of all we try to support each other’s decision to get the heck out of there and on with our lives, except now we have better lives because we’ll have new tools so we can live a life worth living.

Many of us go in totally defeated.  We wake up from our fog about half way through and decide living again is not such a bad idea.  If we don’t, we have to stay.  And that is okay, too.

I think it was the super Vitamin B dose that was making me ill.  Today I took only half and I feel good.  No nausea.  No talking under my breath.  If I had been keeping my log like I should have, I would see that was the problem all along.  I still need to watch my diet because I don’t and I haven’t.  I want to be strong and gorgeous.   It’s a long ways away.


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