IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! And I can’t believe I’m still alive.
The reduction in life expectancy for people with bipolar disorder is between nine and 20 years. so I still have a few more years in me. A few more and a whole lot more – a few more episodes, a few more hospitalizations, the onset of psychosis, a few more drug cocktails with a sprinkling of ECT, a few more therapy sessions and a few more breakdowns. A few more entanglements with addicts? Ohgodhelpme noooooooo…..! Let that be the end of that chapter.
What about a job promotion?
Oh silly girl, technically you’re disabled so where do you get that flight of fancy from? You’re unfocused, have significant absenteeism, ants in your pants, your own personal brand of dyslexia, an inability to cope with stress and an alarmingly deteriorating memory. Where you’re at is where you’ll stay. Get comfortable.
How about a salary increase?
OoohHaaahaaahahahaaa…HaaaaaHaHaHaaaaaaaaa *wipes tears away*
Outwit. Outsmart and outplay bipolar. That’s what awaits me for, I’m predicting, the next 20 years. And since I’m nothing if not stubborn, I just know I’m going to win. That is until my pre-planned assisted suicide retirement plan. Serious. No really. Seriously. At some point I’m gonna have to show my own damn self some mercy. Now that’s self care. But until then, I shall continue to thumb my nose at bipolar. To beat it with a stick. To get up when it drowns me. I’m gonna make bipolar my bitch, bitch!