“What do you mean I am bipolar?” I just starred that the chubby doctor. I could tell he was quite annoyed by his day, he just smiled slightly, no eye contact of course, and said some pointless bullshit that apparently was supposed to make me “feel better.”
Oh and on top of all the nonsense, not even giving my soul just two seconds to keep up, the small man told me he would put me on a starter medication to help control my current impulses. Which I am sure he just reviewed the split two seconds before he politely knocked on the brown, rather large door to the patient room.
And I am not saying that there aren’t amazing doctors in this fucked up medical world because there truly are some amazing souls that have helped me grow enormously. We just, unfortunately, need more of you. And in my case, I’ve received more annoyance than love.
Like this doctor. Completely annoyed by yet another patient that can’t seem to handle the new diagnosis that was thrown at her without any warning or support.
And how dare I ask any questions that may result in this middle-age man to be late for his next appointment. I mean he’s already at least 30 minutes behind his rounds already.
So I just took the prescription, that I’ve tried many many times before, and walked out of that rather large doctor’s office more confused than I’ve ever been.
I was bipolar? That means for the rest of my life I was going to be labeled a mental illness patient. I was going to be linked to this fucking stigma of drug addicts, convicts, and no good shits. My life was completely over according to all the news and media sources I’ve consumed myself with watching over my course of twenty-six years of life.
How was I going to survive the next forty years of my life? Would I even make it that long? According to so-called, probably made-up statistics, that I was doomed to live a perfectly happy life. So fuck was life even worth it?
And as I sit here, writing to you over two years later, I wish I could tell that past Brit, life is ALWAYS worth it. Always. No matter what your circumstance might be.
I know the confusion. The rage. The heartache that comes with the diagnosis. But most definitely I understand the stigma of mental health and the constant “just get over your past already” attitude.
To those people, I point up my pale, middle finger proud and tall, and tell you that I am grateful you’ve never experienced the pain, voices, and constant triggers that arise each morning.
And you have the opportunity to live what you believe as a “normal” life. But as you continue to live on with your quite normalized brains, I am proud to be unique and different. I am honored, quite honored to be mental.
So fuck the damn haters. Be mental. Be brave. But remain humble through all the madness that is thrown your way. And as I always tell you, never give up, no matter what your circumstance may be.