Bipolar 1 Disorder

Today is going to be a rough day because I live with Bipolar depression, and I had a meltdown yesterday. Now, I have to see my therapist with my husband who doesn't understand anything except that I am sick. I am preparing to hear a lot of negative things about myself that I am not sure if I am strong enough to hear today. Even writing this, I am starting to cry. I just know in my heart that this whole session is going to be about how my illness impacts him, and only him. He is very dismissive of my feelings and emotions, and every time I have tried to explain, he just says I am too sensitive. No, I am not too sensitive. I have a serious mental disease. I am not looking forward to this.#Depression #Bipolar1

Today is going to be a rough day because I live with Bipolar depression, and I had a meltdown yesterday. Now, I have to see my therapist with my husband who doesn't understand anything except that I am sick. I am preparing to hear a lot of negative things about myself that I am not sure if I am strong enough to hear today. Even writing this, I am starting to cry. I just know in my heart that this whole session is going to be about how my illness impacts him, and only him. He is very dismissive of my feelings and emotions, and every time I have tried to explain, he just says I am too sensitive. No, I am not too sensitive. I have a serious mental disease. I am not looking forward to this.#Depression #Bipolar1

There are phrases that haunt a body.
“Too much.”
“Not enough.”

I’ve lived in the echo between the two,
stretching and shrinking,
trying to mold myself into something — someone —
worthy of staying.

In early childhood, I learned to monitor myself.
The volume of my laugh. The weight of my questions.
The texture of my emotions.
Joy was too loud. Sadness was too inconvenient.
My silence was praised. My expression, often too sharp to be safe.

By adolescence, the contradictions became doctrine.
Be small, but also remarkable.
Be obedient, but not voiceless.
Be kind, but never vulnerable.
Be a “strong Black woman” — even when you’re quietly bleeding inside.
Be enough — but not so much that you become a burden.

And so I became a master of translation —
constantly decoding the room,
editing myself mid-thought,
swallowing entire oceans of feeling
so I could make others more comfortable.

But no matter how much I concealed,
no matter how much of myself I sacrificed at the altar of acceptability,
someone always found a new way to imply I was too much
or not enough.

Too sensitive. Too bold. Too emotional. Too ambitious.
Too broken.
Too real.

Not smart enough. Not attractive enough. Not agreeable enough.
Not healed enough.
Not worth staying for.

I’ve carried both verdicts like invisible ink on my skin.

And maybe that’s the quiet tragedy of it all —
being expected to hold two opposing truths
without ever being taught how to reconcile them.

It’s lonely, this middle place.
This body that has been both craved and abandoned.
This voice that has been both celebrated and shut down.
This heart that has been both too open and too guarded.

But I’m tired.
I’m so tired of being a shape-shifter.
Of bending toward people who would never twist themselves in return.

So I’m calling it.
I’m not too much.
I’m not not enough.
I’m just… me.

And if that’s unsettling to someone,
it is not my burden to carry anymore.

Let it be unsettling.
Let it be too loud, too tender, too honest, too expansive.

Let me be.

Because this body —
this soul, this voice, this story —
deserves to take up space
without needing to apologize
for its volume or its ache

#MentalHealth #SuicidalIdeation #Depression #Anxiety #Bipolar1 #PTSD #MightyPoets #substack #ADHD #youarenotalone

There are phrases that haunt a body.
“Too much.”
“Not enough.”

I’ve lived in the echo between the two,
stretching and shrinking,
trying to mold myself into something — someone —
worthy of staying.

In early childhood, I learned to monitor myself.
The volume of my laugh. The weight of my questions.
The texture of my emotions.
Joy was too loud. Sadness was too inconvenient.
My silence was praised. My expression, often too sharp to be safe.

By adolescence, the contradictions became doctrine.
Be small, but also remarkable.
Be obedient, but not voiceless.
Be kind, but never vulnerable.
Be a “strong Black woman” — even when you’re quietly bleeding inside.
Be enough — but not so much that you become a burden.

And so I became a master of translation —
constantly decoding the room,
editing myself mid-thought,
swallowing entire oceans of feeling
so I could make others more comfortable.

But no matter how much I concealed,
no matter how much of myself I sacrificed at the altar of acceptability,
someone always found a new way to imply I was too much
or not enough.

Too sensitive. Too bold. Too emotional. Too ambitious.
Too broken.
Too real.

Not smart enough. Not attractive enough. Not agreeable enough.
Not healed enough.
Not worth staying for.

I’ve carried both verdicts like invisible ink on my skin.

And maybe that’s the quiet tragedy of it all —
being expected to hold two opposing truths
without ever being taught how to reconcile them.

It’s lonely, this middle place.
This body that has been both craved and abandoned.
This voice that has been both celebrated and shut down.
This heart that has been both too open and too guarded.

But I’m tired.
I’m so tired of being a shape-shifter.
Of bending toward people who would never twist themselves in return.

So I’m calling it.
I’m not too much.
I’m not not enough.
I’m just… me.

And if that’s unsettling to someone,
it is not my burden to carry anymore.

Let it be unsettling.
Let it be too loud, too tender, too honest, too expansive.

Let me be.

Because this body —
this soul, this voice, this story —
deserves to take up space
without needing to apologize
for its volume or its ache

#MentalHealth #SuicidalIdeation #Depression #Anxiety #Bipolar1 #PTSD #MightyPoets #substack #ADHD #youarenotalone

Life is full of ends and beginnings. I believe life is cyclical not linear. We go through many ends and beginnings sometimes to get to where we want to be. Today I went to the endocrinologist to get my testosterone adjusted and I was happy to hear that “I am as healthy as a male my age should be.” It took a long time to get here. To admit that I am transgender, that I am not a female. I am so proud of where I am, even if it’s not the end goal. We are a work in progress and we can always start fresh- that this the beauty of life. Each day is an opportunity to begin again, to be brave and admit the truth to ourselves, to grow, to inquire, to forgive, to mature, to love, to let go. My journey of self acceptance has brought me back to my early high school days of alternative rock and it is obvious by my doctor’s observance of me that I am becoming more confident with each day that passes. And that is worth celebrating- I am worth celebrating.

I will spend the evening at a local club watching others do karaoke, thrilled to be me. Maybe one day I will gather the courage for that to be me- maybe it’ll even be tonight. Who knows what the future brings? #MentalHealth #PostTraumaticStressDisorder #Bipolar1

Life is full of ends and beginnings. I believe life is cyclical not linear. We go through many ends and beginnings sometimes to get to where we want to be. Today I went to the endocrinologist to get my testosterone adjusted and I was happy to hear that “I am as healthy as a male my age should be.” It took a long time to get here. To admit that I am transgender, that I am not a female. I am so proud of where I am, even if it’s not the end goal. We are a work in progress and we can always start fresh- that this the beauty of life. Each day is an opportunity to begin again, to be brave and admit the truth to ourselves, to grow, to inquire, to forgive, to mature, to love, to let go. My journey of self acceptance has brought me back to my early high school days of alternative rock and it is obvious by my doctor’s observance of me that I am becoming more confident with each day that passes. And that is worth celebrating- I am worth celebrating.

I will spend the evening at a local club watching others do karaoke, thrilled to be me. Maybe one day I will gather the courage for that to be me- maybe it’ll even be tonight. Who knows what the future brings? #MentalHealth #PostTraumaticStressDisorder #Bipolar1

Here’s a little video I’ve put together with a voice over by my good self, explaining my understanding and my description of what Bipolar Disorder means to me. I hope you like it and if you have any questions, comments and or suggestions, please feel free to reach out in the comments section below 👇🏼 👌👍

youtu.be/7AathBkyYX0

#MightyTogether #Bipolar1Disorder #Bipolar2Disorder #MoodDisorders #Mania

Tomorrow I’m attending the Inspire Centre for therapy and assistance to help with my substance abuse issues. Here’s what I have written for them. If you have any suggestions or advice on what I’ve written, please let me know in the comments section below 👍

Last time I had a drink - 9th Sept.
Last time I took Cocaine - 9th Sept.

• Use was plain and simply an escape. An escape from the noise and chatter and chaos that I have to put up with 24/7. It might only have been for a couple of hours, but I needed it.

• It’s like my prescription drugs, that were working brilliantly, became less effective and the Bipolar was more prevalent causing this gap, a void that had to be filled, and I chose to fill it with alcohol and Cocaine.

• I know that my actions aren’t the best way to deal with it but I was just desperate. I know that mixing the two together forms Cocaethylene in the Liver, and this is Cardiotoxic.

• Without the Cocaine I wouldn’t have been able to write this explanation. My Bipolar medication robs me of my ability to express myself and explain my experiences in any way. It makes me numb. It’s a different numbness than that of what the Depression brings, but it is a numbness nonetheless.

• I don’t think I’ve got a substance abuse problem, but I’ve got a Mental Illness problem that isn’t being addressed. My meds worked well for a long time from when I started this combination. Slowly, I feel like the Bipolar chipped away at them and their ability to remedy the problem that the Bipolar caused, became less productive.

• After time, they (the medication) have become less effective, less efficient if you will. There is no cure for this illness but just a remedy to keep it manageable. I feel that they need reviewing and increasing where possible to avoid the dips in my recovery from this terrible affliction that consumes me relentlessly for every single minute of every single day.

• There is an onslaught of gaps in my psyche which are voids of emptiness that are being filled by the Bipolar and not the medication. It’s as though it has been setting me up to fall in its trap. Relentless in pursuit of finding a way in which impacts on me. It’s horrible.

#Addiction #Alcoholism #AlcoholAbuse #CocaineDependence #SubstanceRelatedDisorders #MentalHealth #MightyTogether

Here’s a link to a blog I wrote about what Bipolar Depression is to me and my explanation of it. Let me know if you agree or have any other experiences with it.

Living with Bipolar Disorder: Bipolar Depression

#MentalHealth #MightyTogether