…trouble explaining my mental illness…

mental illnessThis afternoon I was posed with the questionable thought, “Did I have trouble explaining my mental illness to the loved on in my life?”

Wow I wasn’t planning on talking about this for awhile, but lemons were given, so lemonade I must make. YES!

Sometimes I have learned one of the hardest parts of living with a mental illness is talking about it with those that do not understand it. What I have learned is that many of them either one, never heard or dealt with someone in their life with a mental disorder or two, can only associate mental illness with what they have seen on television or in movies, which is rarely portrayed as truth.

As I have stated in previous posts, I was living, thus suffering with mental illness from a young age, but it was a silent battle. However Bipolar Disorder Type 1 was said to me in a hospital setting. I was nervous and afraid. I felt as though the moment the words escaped the doctors’ lips I was cursed. How was I going to tell my family, let alone my friends and work that I had a label? Would I, should I tell them? What would I say? AHH, I was angry and confused on the trouble I was having.

So when it came to my mother, it was just blurted out and as usual she went into research mode. This was fine at the time because I also needed to research myself. I was afraid to tell my dad but I had no choice but to when I got home, and he just hugged me. Secretly I believed he was terrified. Now my brother, who was considered my twin, minus two years was off serving in our Navy, as was I, but I didn’t tell him for months until he came home on leave. This I regret because I feel as though our relationship was hurt by this betrayal I call it. These three people were difficult to tell, yet when it came to work, school, and friends, I had trouble explaining my bipolar condition.

All of a sudden I wanted to say, “I wish I could tell you that I am still me, the person you know, but I have something called bipolar disorder,” but I was still afraid.

Today I am much more open about my diagnosis, but I will always remember how I told certain people play by play and how I lost them along this path of mines. Until next time, G. Merced, pleased.


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