Bipolar 1 Disorder

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Second chances

Today I sat on my kitchen floor and cried. Hired to make strawberry mango cupcakes for a 21st birthday, I decided to do a trial run. I worked really hard on the batter and frosting, making a strawberry purée, mango lime compote and a mango purée to incorporate into it. Spoiler alert, it didn’t work out. My mango and strawberry cream cheese frosting was sticky and didn’t stand up, my cupcakes flat with too much moisture. The only thing going for me was that my mango lime compote turned out perfect. I cried on the floor. I had made a bulk batch of both frosting flavors, intending to use them for the actual cupcakes. I had run out of mangos and strawberries as I had used all of them for the purée. I knew how to fix that batter but didn’t have the ingredients to do so. I was devastated. Out of all the cupcakes I’ve made in the past, I only had to redo the batter once. But the beauty of life, is that there can be second chances and when a second chance comes along, you don’t start from scratch but from experience. I ended up making a vanilla cupcake and infused it with my strawberry purée, adding in the mango lime compote in the middle. Next I trashed the frosting and made a new batch with just a plain cream cheese frosting. The second batch of cupcakes worked out perfectly, it paired well with the purée and compote and switching to a basic cream cheese frosting worked out in my benefit. Life throws curveballs and it’s easy to feel defeated. Things don’t always workout the first time around and that’s okay! It’s important to try and try again until we get it right. Sometimes second chances work out for the better. When we learn from our mistakes and press forward, we can accomplish anything. Keep going, keep learning, and never give up. #Bipolar1 #MentalHealth #Anxiety #MightyTogether

(edited)
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Second chances

Today I sat on my kitchen floor and cried. Hired to make strawberry mango cupcakes for a 21st birthday, I decided to do a trial run. I worked really hard on the batter and frosting, making a strawberry purée, mango lime compote and a mango purée to incorporate into it. Spoiler alert, it didn’t work out. My mango and strawberry cream cheese frosting was sticky and didn’t stand up, my cupcakes flat with too much moisture. The only thing going for me was that my mango lime compote turned out perfect. I cried on the floor. I had made a bulk batch of both frosting flavors, intending to use them for the actual cupcakes. I had run out of mangos and strawberries as I had used all of them for the purée. I knew how to fix that batter but didn’t have the ingredients to do so. I was devastated. Out of all the cupcakes I’ve made in the past, I only had to redo the batter once. But the beauty of life, is that there can be second chances and when a second chance comes along, you don’t start from scratch but from experience. I ended up making a vanilla cupcake and infused it with my strawberry purée, adding in the mango lime compote in the middle. Next I trashed the frosting and made a new batch with just a plain cream cheese frosting. The second batch of cupcakes worked out perfectly, it paired well with the purée and compote and switching to a basic cream cheese frosting worked out in my benefit. Life throws curveballs and it’s easy to feel defeated. Things don’t always workout the first time around and that’s okay! It’s important to try and try again until we get it right. Sometimes second chances work out for the better. When we learn from our mistakes and press forward, we can accomplish anything. Keep going, keep learning, and never give up. #Bipolar1 #MentalHealth #Anxiety #MightyTogether

(edited)
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-Eternal- a poem about the sorrow of grief

I wrote this poem carrying heavy grief in my heart and soul. Grief last a lifetime and in my deep sorrow, I write, I don't hide it away in the darkness, I shine light on it because it needs to be seen. I see your sorrow, too ❤️

-Eternal-

The eyes of heaven gaze down on wee
Beneath the starry sky
The whispers of the willow echos thy name
My heart releases a cry
I remember, I remember, I remember the love
Stained glass memory
Angel choir sings thereof
Painted images of past
Hast buried my mind unfree
Though dare not I paint over
But all is what connects mine to thee

#Grief #Bipolar1 #BipolarDepression #PTSD #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #Depression #Addiction #AddictionRecovery #Caregiving

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-Eternal- a poem about the sorrow of grief

I wrote this poem carrying heavy grief in my heart and soul. Grief last a lifetime and in my deep sorrow, I write, I don't hide it away in the darkness, I shine light on it because it needs to be seen. I see your sorrow, too ❤️

-Eternal-

The eyes of heaven gaze down on wee
Beneath the starry sky
The whispers of the willow echos thy name
My heart releases a cry
I remember, I remember, I remember the love
Stained glass memory
Angel choir sings thereof
Painted images of past
Hast buried my mind unfree
Though dare not I paint over
But all is what connects mine to thee

#Grief #Bipolar1 #BipolarDepression #PTSD #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #Depression #Addiction #AddictionRecovery #Caregiving

Most common user reactions 6 reactions 2 comments
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I’m new here

Hi my name is Silas. I’m new here someone recommended this sight for me. I tend to feel alone at night. Like I have no one to talk to. It’s just me, the voices in my head and my thoughts. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to at night most people are asleep. So I thought here might be a good place. I struggle with a lot and at night all I can do is overthink. And then I wake up and I put on a fake smile like nothing happened. #Bipolar2 #Bipolar1 #PTSD #ADHD #Anxiety

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I’m new here

Hi my name is Silas. I’m new here someone recommended this sight for me. I tend to feel alone at night. Like I have no one to talk to. It’s just me, the voices in my head and my thoughts. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to at night most people are asleep. So I thought here might be a good place. I struggle with a lot and at night all I can do is overthink. And then I wake up and I put on a fake smile like nothing happened. #Bipolar2 #Bipolar1 #PTSD #ADHD #Anxiety

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Hi! I am new to this group

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

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Hi! I am new to this group

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

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Too Much, Not Enough

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

Most common user reactionsMost common user reactionsMost common user reactions 40 reactions 13 comments
Post
See full photo

Too Much, Not Enough

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

Most common user reactionsMost common user reactionsMost common user reactions 40 reactions 13 comments