Blogging and Bipolar Disorder: A recap of my life and inability to be consistent

I haven’t posted in nearly four months.

I think this is in part because I’ve been busy and in part because I’m lazy, but honestly, I see a correlation between my amount of blog posts and my mental health.


You see, I haven’t blogged in the past four months because life has been damn near perfect.

I could blog about the great things I have experienced in the past months, but I’ve created this blogs as a means of escape… as a way of feeling things that I’m not “supposed to feel,” and discussing them with whomever feels like reading what craziness is taking place in my head.


As I assume anyone with bipolar disorder is going to do, I convinced myself over these past few months that I actually was misdiagnosed, and I don’t actually have bipolar disorder… or “I’ve been healed!”

Ahhhh, LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL. Good try, brain. You actually suck more than you want to give yourself credit for.


So I haven’t blogged. I went M.I.A. I didn’t need to write about my feelings because I had been blessed with people—people such as friends and a counselor. People that did more than I ever expected. People that helped keep me stable and only knew me as stable.

That’s really cool, right? That there are people who only know me as stable because they met me within these past few months and didn’t know all my crazy.


Funny thing about bipolar disorder though… it’s hilarious actually… like so funny that I’ve shed many tears over it… Just because you experience a few months of stability doesn’t mean you’re all better. In fact, you’re likely to fall into depression or rise to mania at any moment once your stability decides to leave, and with your stability goes your people, and without your people… you can go back to blogging.


Here are a few things I’m wrestling with right now:

-Being bipolar makes me incredibly inconsistent. I always start off with hella good intentions, but I never finish anything. That’s why this blog started off really great, but then I fell off the face of the earth, which is never good when you have bipolar disorder because then everyone who doesn’t know you, but keeps up with you via social media likely thinks, “Did she kill herself?” That’s another fun thing about bipolar disorder. My likelihood to kill myself is exponentially higher than the “general population,” which is fine with me. I just like to think that every day I make it another day is a miracle and I should high-five myself daily because of how dangerous of a life I live.

-Being bipolar makes me a little delusional… which has led to me thinking things that aren’t really true. I think to an extent, everyone struggles with thinking that everyone is annoyed with them or hates them or whatever insecurity may be being fed at any given time…. But I’m not sure if everyone thinks that to the degree I do at times. Apparently, the stories I tell sometimes don’t match up with the way it “actually happened,” and I don’t mean that as, “Hi, I am a compulsive liar,” or “Hi, I am an extremely dramatic, typical sorority white girl,” but rather, the way I perceive what is happening in front of my or being said to me is vastly different than reality… apparently. I don’t know how much I believe that because I know what I’ve seen and heard. But that is also kinda scary because what is real and what isn’t? Who and what can I trust? Not sure… like I said, I’m wrestling.

-Being bipolar means that I’m not really sure if I should trust myself… because just a month ago, I was really stable. I had my shit together. Now, I’m a mess. And that may be an understatement.

-Being bipolar comes with a definite need for routine, and guess who has lost every bit of her routine… me! First, summer hit. Then, I moved into a new house. Then, I started classes. Then I went on a three week trip to another country. There is no routine. I completely underestimated the importance of me having a safe place and a routine and every damn thing I set in place in order to find some sort of stability. My stability was certainly rooted in Jesus, but when all the things I’m “supposed to do” as a person with bipolar disorder in order to help my brain out went away, my time with Jesus followed.

[With that being said, let’s talk about faith really quickly. I am so damn sick of people who have well-functioning brains tryna tell me how to be a Christian and love Jesus and fix my life. Seriously, stop. You don’t get it. I am one million percent aware that if I could just go be alone with the Lord for an hour every day and hear his voice and really connect with him that everything would improve drastically. Truly, I know this. However, for all of you people with damn good brains, go try this: Sit in a quiet place for just ten minutes filled with anxiety (that you can’t control because your brain is freaking out about how nothing is cleaned or organized) and try to not be distracted… or I don’t know, try to have a crippling depression that essentially has placed lead in your veins and your body is too heavy to drag out of bed to even go pray… or maybe try to go talk to the Lord when you are convinced that he doesn’t want anything to do with you because you’re convinced that nobody does… and if none of that works, try to seek the Lord when you don’t feel a damn thing because you don’t give a damn about anything… at all. You don’t necessarily want to die, but living isn’t that great, so you’re indifferent. And I know, you may want to tell me that I need to just keep on seeking the Lord and I need to just keep on keeping on, but hey, I’m sure you know what is best for my relationship with the Lord. I’m sick of hearing, “there’s no striving in intimacy with the Lord,” but then hearing, “just keep on fighting” or “keep seeking after the presence of God.” Dammit, you ignorant people, the definition of striving is to make great efforts to achieve or obtain something; to struggle or fight vigorously. I’m frustrated with the general public’s view on mental illness. I’m frustrated with the Church on her view of mental illness and faith. But I’m also frustrated with the mindset by the community of people struggling with a mental illness that we should just lie down and chalk it all up to a mental illness. So I guess another thing you can say I’m wrestling with is mental illness and spirituality. One day, I’ll come up with some damn good shit on how to do this whole thing with a mental illness, but for now, all I know is that despite any delusions, I know that I am loved and my purpose is to love God and be loved by him… that’s it. Sometimes, I’ll display my love to him extravagantly, but other times (like now), I’m not capable of being extravagant… in these times, I will sit back and receive and lean on him because we will survive this thing.]

-Being bipolar also has a high probability that I am going to need ways to release my extreme emotions, and for much of my life, I’ve managed to find fairly healthy ways of doing this. For example, music, blogging, cleaning, art, and driving has been my primary means of escape for much of my life during seasons of darkness and swirliness. However, I guess you could say I’ve added some more unhealthy means of release, such as drinking way too much and burning myself. I’ve not convinced myself fully that it’s not okay for me to do either of these things because I’m not convinced that it’s actually even a big deal. I get that both have been labeled as bad or unhealthy or whatever, but a few burns on my legs and a few forgotten nights are distracting me from the craziness and chaos I’m feeling, or conversely, it gives me a tangible feeling when I actually feel nothing at all. I don’t really have any remorse for it besides that it hurts others when I hurt myself, but I actually am fine. I think. Maybe. Still processing. But think about it, if I can “self-harm” in the middle of my own birthday party and nobody know, then obviously it’s not that bad of a thing. Ya know?

-Being bipolar means that I’m supposed to ask for help, and expect that nobody is going to know what to do to help. Nobody is going to know what to say. Nobody is going to know what to do. Nobody is going to know how to respond. Nobody is going to have the answers. There will be days where I feel like I’m going alone. There will be times when I genuinely ask for help, and get rejected or dropped. There will be moments when my feelings will be invalidated because I’m seeing through a different lens. However, there will also be people who come along, and although they may have no clue what they are doing or intentions of changing your life for the better, they end up holding your hand and walking through the terrors that you can’t escape as your very brain is trying to kill you. They love you, despite your diagnosis and craziness. They are there trying to understand your heart, even when you don’t make sense. For those people, I am deeply grateful. You, and the Lord, have kept me alive.




So ultimately, I’m wrestling with a lot of things.

I feel like I have climbed out of a pit and run really fast away from it only to find that when I stopped watching where I was going and enjoying the scenery outside of the pit, I fell into another pit. Silly me, thinking I could carelessly enjoy life. Ah, get it together.

I know I’m not in the best state, but I’ve got tools and resources that I’ve acquired over this journey up to now and lessons I’ve learned from past pits that I can utilize in this season. It may be summertime, but a lot of my learning just began… like learning how to live and manage this thing. At first, it may be tough, but I’m hoping I can get the hang of things before I’m too far gone.



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