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Healthy Living

An Open Letter From The Girl With Bipolar Disorder To The People She Loves

I have a mind that truly can’t be tamed.

I have a mind that wanders off on its own and goes to places so far off the grid that no one else could ever find their way there. I have a mind that could travel thousands of miles in seconds, only to come back with more questions about death, love and the meaning of existence. I have a mind that I can’t catch up with, a hurricane of emotions all wrapped up in one big knot inside my head trying to make me go insane. I have a mind that truly can’t be tamed.

I stay in bed for days. A few hours later, I could be standing on a rooftop screaming from the intense euphoria that fills my veins with magic that my body finds unfathomable but adapts to anyway. I am a terrified swing, flying amongst the stars one moment then coming down with all its force and power the other. I have so much love to give, yet I am incapable of giving any at all. I have two monsters inside of me fighting for first place where the winner gets nothing but heartache.

When manic, I am the queen of the world, walking around with confidence that no being could ever shake. I am a winner, I am invincible, I can do anything. I can make it rain. I can make it stop. I can change the way you see the world and I pity those who don’t see the world through my eyes. I feel sorry for the poor souls who can’t find the light at the end of the tunnel. I am passionate. I am loving. I want to see you happy and never see you cry. I want you to forget the world has ever hurt you and see all the beauty that it holds. I am on top of the world and nothing or no one could ever touch me.

Then I crash. You are not you and I am not me, and the world’s coming to an end. This life is our punishment. It’s what we get for even thinking that we deserve happiness and love. Turn the lights off and leave because there is no hope and I will die alone. If you see me cry, pretend that it’s not happening because nothing you say will ever change the fact that I am miserable and ready to die. You can’t save me; you can’t even save yourself. No, I’m not going out tonight, you guys go without me. I am sorry you can’t feel me there anymore. I am sorry for being so sad all the time. I am sorry that all I can talk about is loss. I am sorry that I don’t know how to talk anymore. Why are you still here? Go. Run. Off you go. You don’t deserve to have someone like me in your life because I was made of sorrow and you should really go now. I am not in control of what I do, my hands do not belong to me. I don’t know where I walk.

And this is not partial. This is not a phase. This is not the part where you swoop in and tell me that it’s going to get better cause that’s not what I need to hear anyway. What I need to know but will never even talk about is whether you’ll stay or leave. Whether you can put up with having someone in your life that is constantly changing personas like a game of charades. Whether you’ll wake up one day and decide that this is just too much to handle.

These are the things I’ll never say because I have too much pride in me and I am not one to cry when you one day decide to walkaway from it all and say fuck it. It’ll hurt, but you’ll never know it did. It’ll cut me open but all that’s going to show is how much you never mattered to me. And I won’t try and I won’t beg. I will slam the door after me the moment I feel you trembling because my life has already given me enough lessons on how to be alone.

So, I am sorry if you find me cold, distant and yap yapping about my insane abilities to be completely autonomous sometimes. I’m sorry if I sound selfish or intimidating at times. All I can do is write down how I feel and if you’re reading this, then you should know that I love you in the best way that I can. The only way I can.

So, stay.


If you or someone you know needs help, call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Outside of the U.S., please visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention for a database of resources.

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