July is National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month. Here's my blurb. 7.27.22.

I don’t know if I will ever be the person I was before Bipolar 1 Disorder took over my life. But maybe that’s okay. We, as humans, are always evolving, always changing. Sometimes for the better. Other times, for the worse. It is hard to accept you are subject to an illness that can wreak havoc on your life at any time, but so much of our lives is lived in fear of the unknown, in fear of what will happen next if I do or if I don’t, what shitty hand will I have to deal the next time around. That’s just how it is sometimes—not just for people with Bipolar disorder, hell, for anyone.

But I can’t spend my days, sitting around, wondering if I am the person I was before Bipolar Disorder. I just have to live and enjoy my days as much as I can because I don’t know how many days I have left or what the next day might bring. I don’t have the luxury of having the gift of prophecy. I wouldn’t even want it.

I know I am slower because of my mental illness. That, all those thousands upon thousands of chemicals that have been stewing about in my brain for the past twenty one years, have slowed my reaction time—to so many things. Not only physically, but mentally. When people ask me a question, sometimes, it takes me an abnormal amount of time to process it. So, I end up just blurting out an answer because I don’t have an immediate thought or response (I'll draw a blank--it's very disconcerting), or I don’t want to make them wait two minutes for me to get my words in order. And half the time I do that, the answer is wrong. I’m so eager to just say something, a word will roll off my tongue, only stopping for one millisecond to really think it through. Sometimes, you ask me a question and I rack my brain for an answer and if I don’t come up with one quick enough (or at least, quick enough by my paranoid standards), I’ll say whatever just so I can say SOMETHING. Or I say something brief not wanting to let on that my mind has drawn a blank. A complete blank. I swear, I was much sharper before I started taking these pills two decades ago.

And after my breakdown that landed me in the hospital, I had forgotten how to swim or ride a bike. Things I learned at age 7 and 5 respectively. Still haven’t relearned how to do either. My brain just doesn’t remember. The muscle memory is non-existent. It’s like…those skills just fell out of my brain one day. And having that breakdown, experiencing whatever trauma, it is the only explanation. Or at least, the only explanation my brain can process.

I like who I am today. Yes, it’s true. Would I be better if I never had to endure my mental illness? Would I talk more, be more sociable, be less afraid to try new things? Maybe.

But even though bipolar disorder prevents me from fully enjoying certain things, I am still enjoying life. I am grateful for being able to laugh. Grateful for a roof over my head. A caring family. A loving, lovable fiancé. I am grateful to be able to wake up and say, hey. Sky’s looking pretty good today.

Yes. There are things I was able to do before that I can’t do now. Yes, my illness presses me to say no sometimes, when I should allow myself the joy and freedom of saying yes. No, I have no idea where this road may lead. But I can’t sit, and wait, and wonder. Who would I be if not for my illness? That would take away too much from who I AM today. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point in my life. Life’s too short to mull over what could have been or pine for what could be if things were different. I’m going to ride this rollercoaster--and I have a love-hate relationship with rollercoasters. I’m going to smile when I’m happy. Cry when I’m sad. Laugh when something is freaking hilarious. I’m going to live. That’s it. That’s all. One foot forward, one step at a time. And I have to keep reminding myself. I don’t owe anyone any explanations.