Sometimes I do turn into a monster. Sometimes I do feel like a monster. Sometimes I feel consumed by monstrous thoughts and tidal waves of emotion.
But I am not a monster. I don’t accept that. I am a beautiful empath. The intensity of my emotions make me passionate in everything I do. My sensitivity makes me able to walk in another’s shoes. I am the keeper of secrets when people confide in me. I am creative and caring. I am kind and reliable. I am incapable of lying. There is never an agenda in any thought or action. I have a sense of humour and am the first to laugh at myself. I am strong and brave. I have a beautiful heart and a deep, insightful soul. I am intelligent and interestingly imperfect. I fiercely feel every ounce that life has to offer. I’m no monster.
As much as bipolar is a curse, it is also a blessing. Without its depths I would feel hollow and dull. I can’t imagine living a life like that doesn’t gleam with intensity. Mood swings? With inconsistency every day brings a new surprise. From those dark days comes wisdom. I am proudly bipolar. So stigma can kiss my ass, along with all the ordinary folk that fuel its existence. I am me, and I love me just the way I am.