A part of my life story

This blog is usually about my interests and fashion, the fun things going on in my life. Today I want to write about something else. A more serious matter. I have to tell you something. 

A few weeks ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder type two. 

Basically; depression with periods of out-of-control and sometimes damaging happiness.

I will probably regret posting this later on. But right now, I want to tell my story.

I've been thinking so hard about how to write this for quite some time now. So many words to use. It's better to just keep it simple, right?

Well, the cat is out of the box now. 

Why am I writing this, you ask? Simple. I understand people I talk to frequently online have been wondering and worrying about me going to the hospital all the time. I've been tweeting about it, for example. I'm sorry if I made anyone worried in vain. I've been going to the hospital to do tests in order to get the right amount of medication to help me deal with the symptoms that comes with this diagnose. Blood samples, heart and liver function, ultra sounds, and so on. Nothing more serious than that. I'm actually happy I've finally gotten the help I need, weak as it may sound. 

Truth is, the past years have been hell for me. 

When I'm down, I don't like to write about it online. Or even talk to my friends about it. I do, but not very often. I feel annoying if I do. People in general seem to be deadly afraid of any kind of imperfection or weakness in other people, it's completely ridiculous. We're all different, but the one thing we have in common is that no one is perfect. People seem to me ignoring this. So I like to keep things to myself, most of the time.

It was all really confusing before I got it confirmed that something was "wrong" with me. The thing with bipolar disorder, is that it sort of resembles regular moodswings. Only these bipolar moodswings are ten times worse, follow a weekly schedule, and there's never even a second of peace and quiet. But still. It's like moodswings. So I thought I was supposed to feel as - pardon my french - fucking miserable and lost as I felt, because I was a teenager. I actually felt bad for letting it affect me as much as it did. When everyone else was coping with life, why couldn't I? 

For a week or two I would sit on the couch, playing video games, watching TV. Or just stare at nothing, depending on how bad it was. I did push myself to do something each day though. Like seeing a friend, or going into town, taking a walk. Dressing up and taking an outfit picture. Just because if I sat all day the guilt and anxiety would kill me. 

"Oh god my friends will forget me and they will find new friends and I'm going to die alone and never accomplish anything in my life, I need to do something" 

Even if I felt like crying and thought everything I said just sounded stupid, I pushed myself to smile and act normal. For as long as I needed. Then it was back to the couch, completely exhausted and empty. Constantly tired, sleeping twice as much as I should. Completely lost my appetite. Got anxiety attacks over the most irrational things. I would literally kill myself with angst over something stupid I said in kindergarten, seriously. It wasn't fun at all, I tell you. 

Then out of the blue, I would wake up one morning feeling like superman. 

This phase is one I still have to deal with, since I've been given the medication that only affects my down periods, while waiting for the one that needs more "investigating" before knowing how much I will need of it. 

It's the weirdest feeling ever. I feel super creative. I can't stay still for one second, I just run around with all these ideas and everything is so much fun. In fact, it's so much fun I can't decide what I want to do first, so I end up doing a hundred things at once and leave unfinished projects all over the apartment. It's good, in a way, the extra creativity is something I like. But it's so stressful not being able to stop. And it's definitely not fun losing big chunks of your memory, noticing you've spent all your money on ebay on things you don't remember buying. 

It only gets that bad over the night, though. You see, I stop sleeping during these manic periods. The brain gets a little crazy with no sleep. I can at least pretend to act normal, if not a lot happier than usual, during the day. 

I actually prefer my down periods over my up periods. 

And the carousel goes round, and round, and round. Never slowing down. 

When I stopped going to school completely, since my depressive weeks were longer than my manic days, my parents finally accepted the fact that I might be "sick". Both my aunts are bipolar, and my mum has seen how hard it was for them before they got help. They're fine now, living life like everyone else, but it was still hard for her to accept that I was going through the same hell as she had seen her sisters go through. I don't blame her, I wouldn't want to see my kid in the state I was. By the end of last year I finally started seeing a doctor in order to find out why things had gotten so bad.

It was such a relief getting my diagnose. 

A massive weight lifted off my shoulders, learning my moodswings weren't normal. I could get help. Feel like everyone else, get back on my feet. I didn't have to experience this emotional rollercoaster for good.

I've been through a lot in my life. In short words, was bullied all the way up to sixth grade. I came across a person that mentally abused me and controlled me up to eight grade. I comfort ate and locked myself inside, afraid of people. I became overweight. I lost weight. Ended up battling an eating disorder, which I've still not fully recovered from, to be honest. Then came this complete crash. 

Through all this I've never given up, though, and I can say that I'm proud of myself. Even at my lowest point I've still fought to make things better, looked for that light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually I've learned to keep my head high and stay strong, no matter what. Because I am strong. Even if I have to live and deal with this diagnose for the rest of my life, I know I can do it. It's not the end of the world. My aunts are living normal lives with their families. So do and can I. Life will be good for me. 

Just because I have a diagnose it doesn't mean I'm no longer human, or that I've lost my personality, have to be treated any differently. I hate that people seem to think so. Really. Especially with bipolar disorder, it really doesn't affect you at all, if you're lucky enough to get the right help and have people around you to support you when you need them.

I'm really happy with my life now. I'm over all just... happy. I'm so grateful for my friends and for everything that's going so well for me, in every way. Things are really looking up. 

No one will probably read this all the way to the end. I know I wrote quite a lot, haha. But I want to be honest about this. I'm not ashamed and I wanted to clear things up, for those who have been wondering. I wanted to give a message too, I suppose. 

Stay strong and you can do anything. 

Time to say goodbye. If you've stayed with me until now, thank you for reading. I appreciate it. 

Just going to post this now before I regret being so honest. 

Go on and have a wonderful day ♥