It’s Me This Time
I was talking to my mother, and I became very upset. I don’t remember now what we were talking about or what specifically I felt. It could have been disappointment because my parents could only afford a community college rather than a four-year university. It could have been sorrow caused by the breakup of a friendship. It could have been distress because someone made fun of me.
Whatever it was, I began crying. And as was common back then, once I started crying I couldn’t stop. My out-of-control emotions led to an out-of-control reaction.
And then my mother said, “Everyone goes through this at times.”
My instant thought was “But this time it’s me.”
I know I don’t have a monopoly on suffering. Looking back, the things that aroused an emotional storm in me were nothing much, things that could be remedied. I applied to four-year universities anyway and got a scholarship deal that allowed me to enjoy a first-rate education. I somehow managed to make new friends. I learned to cope with other people’s reactions to me, eventually.
Still, my emotions remained stormy. I would cry over anything or nothing. I would feel hurts intensely and break down frequently.
But I maintain that my reaction to my mother’s undoubted truth had some validity. When difficulties hit, knowing that others had experienced the same hurts and disappointments did not help me. I was experiencing these events through a lens of intense mood swings — bipolar disorder. And that’s not something that “everyone” goes through.
It’s true that I overdramatized just like any teen to a certain extent. But there was an added edge, a force driving my emotions past the normal. I couldn’t control what I was feeling or how extremely I expressed it. My disappointment was devastating. My sorrow was cataclysmic. My distress was hysterical. It’s no wonder my mother had no idea what I was feeling or how to deal with it. I didn’t know myself.
When people talk about bipolar, we usually talk about the back-and-forth, the rollercoaster. The intensity of the feelings gets less attention. It’s not just that we have mood swings. It’s that those moods are often out of control.
Seeing that from the outside, as my mother and my friends did, was no doubt beyond confusing. We may all go through these moods, but not everyone has the added emotional kick of bipolar pushing them past the normal into a realm that we ourselves don’t understand. If it was confusing for my loved ones, it was equally or more confusing for me.
I was like that for a long time. My experiences at college and after were colored by the fact that I didn’t know why I was the way I was. I went many years being beaten up by my own mind, my own emotions, my own brain. I despaired of ever finding a way out, and my despair was extreme, too.
Now, I’m diagnosed and medicated appropriately. I still have times when my emotions go a bit beyond the “norm.” I still have breakdowns occasionally. My startle reflex is exaggerated, and my anxiety still overwhelms me sometimes.
But at least now I understand what’s happening and why. Now, I seldom have to envy the “everyone” who experiences everyday life with less intense emotions. I may still have mood swings, but they no longer dominate my life. They’re more in line with what the general population would consider average.
I’ve finally achieved the stability that my mother knew deep down I didn’t have, even if she didn’t understand why not. I’m not knocking her; I didn’t understand it either. But I’m not that different anymore. And while I used to have a love-hate relationship with the concept of “normal,” I don’t hate it the way I did. Now, I’m more a part of “everyone.”
