So I am somewhat embarrassed.
(I don’t know if I should really share this with the world just yet. But I am bored to death and I am not allowed to drive right now, so what else will I do with my time?)
So we bipolar folk go through some, pardon my non-pc term, “crazy” shit during manic episodes.
Mine included running around, growling at cops (yes. growling), thinking the president was in my neighborhood, scaring the shit out of my friends who loved me and knew I wasn’t acting like myself even though I swore up and down that I was “fine, guys.”
What happens though, when we “come down,” you might wonder?
For me, personally, there is a crash landing after the fall back to earth.
I basically have the recollection of my “manic” actions as someone who would wake up from a previously intense night of drinking.
I don’t really know the details but I remember enough to be embarrassed about what other people are telling me that I did.
There are bucket loads of shame with my name on them, just waiting for me to pour them out all over my own head.
Shame begs us to bathe in it. It promises us a squeaky-clean self image if we would just lather it into our skin cells.
I am not going to lie, I have been tempted to bathe in shame, many times after my hospitalization. The stories I’ve been told about myself are somewhat nauseating.
But here’s the cool part: my friends and family are so effing cool and love me so effing well that I don’t feel the need for baths in bucket loads of shame. I am realizing that this manic episode was something that could not have been prevented. That the “manic” genevieve is not the true, genuine genevieve.
This is all pretty incredible to realize.
It also helps me to get this out into the open.
So thanks again for reading. Hopefully you now have a little more insight into the mind of a person working through bipolar disorder.
Thanks for being awesome, guys. And thanks for all the prayers and thoughts. You are helping me heal.