Going through so many hard emotions, loving with Bipolar Disorder, makes it easy to forget who I really am. I have so many bad day, exponentially more bad than good. It fogs my sense of self. I obviously know I’m not the bad days. Though, so many of them make it hard to even remember that sometimes. On my good days I approach with such caution. Live my life in a sense of fear or dread. Sometimes I think maybe I’m having a good day, until I notice my mind racing. Mania is not a good day.
Who am I? Well, I find little ways to remind myself. I’m a red hot coal at the bottom of the fire, strong, withstand what’s trying to destroy me. I’m a wave in the lake, laughing and care free. I’m Pumba from the Lion King, jovial and carefree. I’m my dog, loving, childlike. This illness won’t take that away from me. I may not see myself very often but the real me still exists. I can’t let that be taken from me. Even if I never meet myself again, I still know who I am. I’m worth fighting for.