A fucking bipolar enlightenment

This is for all those holier than thou, high and mighty fuckers who can't give a rats ass about those people who weren't born as perfect as they.

Living with bipolar disorder sucks! In case you missed a keyword, DISORDER might tell your ignorant ass something. Disorder means something is wrong. It does NOT mean we chose to live with BP.

Bipolar disorder means we live life on a severe high, or a severe low. Both of those sides wreak havoc in our lives because neither is normal. Especially not as normal as you perfect folk.

Many people with BP drink, do drugs, molest kids, kill people, gamble, kill themselves, shop till their bank account drops, hurt theirselves, miss work, miss school, steal from others, and the list can and does go on.

Does that make them bad people? Their actions are bad, and the bipolar allows them to justify their behavior.

For example, with me, my bad thing is gambling. I can go years without spending a penny, then my brain will shift gears and I'll have the rent spent in a day. Somehow, my brain justifies it by telling me I just got paid, I have extra money, I'll win it back, and etc.

After the money is gone, I crash and I crash hard. I turn almost normal in that I realize I fucked up and I feel like shit for what I did.

Until the next time.

We live to extremes. Sometimes, my house is immaculate with nary a speck of dust to be found, and everything in it's proper place.

Then, I get days like yesterday and today where i've crashed and I'm surrounded by trash. It takes all I can just to move from one room to another; forget about cleaning up.

I do really well for months sometimes, Then I crash and it all goes to shit. I get migraines, I can't make it to work, I don't bother calling in because, at that moment, I just don't care about the next second. The house goes to shit, the kids run wild and the dog doesn't get fed.

It's that much more difficult to face the next day when I can make it to work and I'm ashamedly explaining to my boss why I failed to make it, failed to call in, trying to explain how it is living with this disorder and why we do the things we do.

I'm on *counting all the med bottles in front of me*... 5 daily morning meds, one daily throughout for headaches, 5 daily nighttime meds, and 3-5 as needed meds.

2 nighttime meds are for sleep alone otherwise i'd never get to sleep early enough to wake my ass up at 5am for work.

I must be alone. I have no friends and prefer it that way. I don't want anyone calling me, knocking on my door or anything. When I'm in crash mode, watch the fuck out. I can just as easily stick a fork in your ass- you're done- as I can say hiya.

When I'm in manic mode, not only am I nice as a french whore getting paid, but I'm also dangerous: dangerous at work, on the road, at the house, anywhere and anytime I'm reckless and dangerous because I'm going a bazillion miles a second.

No one minds that. No one has shit to say when we're manic because shit is getting done and we're not bothering anyone.

Fuck, but when we crash- it's bad enough we have to pick up our pieces, but we also gotta hear it from everyone and their fucking relatives about what a loser we are.

Get over it, they say. Give me your magic fucking fairy wand, wave it and see what the fuck happens. I'll bet my last dollar won't shit happen- except you'll prove what a dumbass you are.

Get over yourself, and if you haven't a fucking clue, quit projecting, get a clue and shut the fuck up.