Community Stories

Zoe: Free from Bipolar

Zoe: Free from Bipolar | Libero Magazine 1
I love you, bipolar, you make me brave, you make me powerful, and, god, have you made me resilient.
Trigger warning: mention of bulimia behaviours. (support resources)

“To me, Freedom is not ridding yourself of a disorder; it is learning to live with it and see the beautiful.”

(what does freedom mean to you?)

Dear Bipolar,

You’d think after 18 years together we’d know each other pretty well. Yet there are still parts of you that are unknown to me.

You are like my innermost organs, always there but I didn’t learn about you until later on.

This body isn’t mine anymore, Bipolar, it’s ours. I can’t see where you end and I begin; we’re intertwined like new lovers in a bed.

Bipolar, I know you like to be the centre of attention, but I’m sorry, you cannot always be. There are things I want to do that don’t involve your highs and lows.

I’m sorry bipolar but sometimes you’ll have to take a backseat.

Man, have we had some good time together. Remember when we went for a run at 1 am and felt like we were on fire? We ran until we passed out, but that night I felt like I could fly.

Do you recall the time where we were running down the back alley ripping off our hunter boots and throwing them at our friends? I felt unstoppable.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some tough times, too.

There have been times when we haven’t been able to move our limbs, where our body was weighed down by lead and our mind ceased to contain thoughts. times when sticking our fingers down our throat was a high we just couldn’t get enough of.

It’s not just you I’ve gotten to know recently, it’s all of the associates you bring along with you.

There are our manic friends and their depressive partners. It’s easier to give them cute nicknames like hyper-sexuality, mania, purging, bingeing, delusions, and recklessness.

Oh bipolar, I wish you weren’t so invisible. How I would love to put a face to your name. Maybe then people would take you seriously.

Maybe then it wouldn’t have taken three years and countless doctors to get a diagnosis, to get medication, and to smooth your rough edges.

I love you, bipolar, you make me brave, you make me powerful, and, god, have you made me resilient. If I could cut you out of me without harming myself I wouldn’t even consider it because bipolar, without you, I’m not quite sure what would be left.

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