Invisible Scars; The Other Side of the Looking Glass


Ok, this one is hard for me to write so bear with me if I ramble because I feel it needs to be said. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot, more than writing or even making my outfits that get posted on here. I do this thing sometimes where I just pull myself back into my mind and lock the door. I become a hermit, I clam up not wanting to do anything or see anyone. A part of it is because like many nerds I am a natural introvert (though a part of me is also extroverted but I think that might just be by comparison to my friends) but the largest part of it is because I’m Bipolar. Being Bipolar can be rough, first of all its one of those “invisible” diseases/disorders so it’s a coin toss if people believe you. Also Bipolar is one of those disorders that’s not taken very seriously, people who get moody will say “sorry I’m just being bipolar today”, and when you tell others you have this weird chemical imbalance in your brain that’s what they think, manic-depressive meaning oh some days she’ll be hyper and others she’ll be all weepy and sad. Nope. I’m not saying this to complain, but more to educate, being Bipolar is hard. For one thing it’s much more than just being manic or depressed (well it is and it isn’t) and even doctors don’t know a lot about it. Hell I have it and I’m learning new stuff every day, unfortunately it’s mostly by experiencing the new stuff. During a manic episode it’s completely logical to me to spend a ton of money that I really don’t have to spend, have one night stands with people I normally wouldn’t even go near (also ruined some friendships that way), I get irritable at people just for breathing, I speak and type a mile a minute and jump from subject to random subject in a blink (not just tracks of thought like I normally do, complete stations/continents of thought where even I’m going “how the hell did I get here?”), I can’t think straight or focus for more than a minute at a time, and even though that’s bad being depressed is worse. Being depressed is like falling down a dry well and knowing you can’t get out and no one will save you, I lie in bed for days and try to wish the world away. It hurts to get out of bed, to deal with people (even dear friends and family), even to smile. I have to force yourself to speak when spoken to, to shower, to eat, to write or create. During a depressive period when I look in the mirror (though most of the time I desperately avoid them, I can go for days without a mirror) all I see is a disgusting monster and little voices in my head whisper to me constantly that I’m ugly, useless, I’m a terrible writer, nobody likes me, all I do on this planet is waste space. It can take days/weeks for me to find a way to drag myself out of those holes and while I’m down there or dragging myself out I’m exhausted, listless, I hide from people by retreating into my head and I just want to die.

So in short being depressed is like being in high school times 100 and being manic is like being a self-destructive junkie on a bender. Add a few hallucinations, anxiety attacks, and voices and you get the gist of what I deal with on a daily basis. The fact that this disorder is genetic (no escape, thanks dad!), there’s no cure, it gets worse with age, can be misdiagnosed as Depression and antidepressants make people with Bipolar suicidal, and unless you find the right kind of medications (since there isn’t one specifically for bipolar you’re basically mixing mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety pills, and antipsychotics into a Molotov cocktail and throwing it into your brain crossing your fingers that it works.) you’re screwed and the wrong mix could either kill you or have you try to kill yourself is just an added bonus.

But that’s not the point of all this, I’m not trying to complain to the world that being Bipolar sucks (because it really suuuuuuucks) I’m just, I don’t know, working through some stuff by writing about it I guess. Honestly you don’t have to read this, if you’ve made it this far I have to congratulate you. I had a point originally, I was thinking of what makes an artist an artist. If I only write once in a while is it because I’m depressed and Bipolar, because I don’t have anything to say, am I just lazy, or is it because I’m not really a writer? I think therefore I am, I write therefore I’m a writer. If I’m not writing I guess I’m not a writer. But I am writing, and now I’m confused. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have an original thought in my head… and I’m rambling and being depressing on to the next topic!

The reason I started writing this was a. I felt I had a point and needed to write (if you find a point in there, someone let me know because I think I lost it) b. because I saw something inspirational and it inspired me to write. I was watching a Q&A  with Sir Patrick Stuart, a man I love dearly and deeply admire and he was talking about how he and his mother survived domestic abuse. So many of the people I admire had to deal with terrible situations in their life external and internal (and they didn’t always overcome them), I like how they explained my favorite artist Vincent Van Gogh in Doctor Who because to me it explains all artists (writers, actors, dancers, singers) or at least the really good ones they “transform the pain in” their “tormented life into ecstatic beauty”. That’s what I want to do, I want to transform the pain like Patrick and Vincent. I want to turn the pain of being Bipolar, being the black sheep of the family, being bullied as a child, having had abusive and toxic relationships, and I want to make beauty. I want my words to move people, to move myself. I want people to see that even with all the crap in my life that I deal with daily and they deal with daily that there is still hope and good in the world, that they can have it if they just reach out for it. I want people to know that they’re special and amazing creatures. I want to believe it myself. Mostly I want to finish my book, I  need to prove to myself that I am a writer because I love telling stories, I love creating something and sharing it with people. I’ve been working on (though mostly thinking because I’ve been locked in my brain for months) a story and I posted the prologue on my other blog, where this post probably should have gone since it’s kinda depressing and emotional. It a fantasy story about a secret organization, based off traditional tarot cards, who police and are peacekeepers for the 5 races (the underground magic community). Now they are under attack…haven’t worked out all the kinks but it’s fun and I love my characters. I just need to turn “want” into “do”. Hopefully before depression takes hold again.



p.s. if anyone cares to look at the prologue they can here but its a rough draft so read it at your own risk, and if you leave feedback say something nice, constructive or don’t say anything at all.


About freak0nature

Nerd with a weird sense of humor. View all posts by freak0nature

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