You will know no strength like that of a bipolar. It’s a force of will forged over a lifetime of endurance. Breath by breath, hour by hour, day by day, year in and year out, is her constant struggle to endure the pain that lies deep within her brain.
No single human can break her. For she has faced the storms of life, seen the light at the end and powered through to the other side, alive. She lives where angels fear to tread. Her mind, cast in duality, strives to kill her by coercion and subtle, whispered doubt, eroding her soul like a storm. Human judgment and stigma, shaped by ignorance and intolerance, violate her very life force.
But no bipolar worth their salt and lithium will go down quietly. She is born a warrior. She is born a survivor. She is born to face the dark and walk through to the light. She is born to bear unbearable pain, quietly. Born to a life of sufferance then sudden bliss. Sunshine then rain. Immeasurable enthusiasm for life countered by times of dark, dark weariness. She is born to wade the waters of depression, and survive. And she is born to soar the great heights of mania, and not fall from grace.
I do not have bipolar. I am bipolar. I am defined by bipolar because every day I live within the confines of my illness, my symptoms, the triggers, side effects, consequences. By diagnosis, by behaviour and by dress size, I am anchored to the fate of my life.