This is a letter I wrote today in my intensive outpatient therapy program about talking to my disorder like it was a person. While that’s not my style of writing, I have to turn this in tomorrow as homework and I’d like archive it as a post so I can look back on it later. See if I still feel the same way a month, a year, or even a decade down the line. Feel free to read it but this is kinda just for me right now:
“So, I want to start off by telling you something that’s been on my mind for months (maybe years I don’t know when we actually first met):
Go fuck yourself Bipolar!
We’re not friends. I don’t know where you got the idea that we are friends. You’re a liar. A greedy, vile, manipulative asshole. You like to tell me things that aren’t true to fuck with me. Because of all your lies and deception, you nearly cost me my job, my friends, and my husband. When I’m depressed, you tell me I’m worthless. That no one cares about me. That my death would be a welcomed godsend. And when I try and argue with you, when I try and fight back, you grab me by the throat and choke the light and the hope out of me. To the point where I wish I was dead.
And then one day, you’ll show up at my doorstep and tell me you’re sorry. You’ll say that I am actually worthy. That I do deserve happiness. But not just happiness. I deserve the world and all the pleasures it can give me. You invite me to parties and turn me into a social butterfly. Flirtatious and confident, you feed me every single thing I want to hear. I feel like I can conquer the world. That everyone loves me and I can take what I want from anyone, regardless of the consequences. But the joy doesn’t last because you like to push me to my limit. I can’t stop even though I know it’s dangerous. And when all’s said and done, you exhaust me and I regret all the stupid shit I let you talk me into doing. And sometimes, for a brief moment, I can rest. Because you are passed out drunk from your lascivious activities. That rest lasts for about five minutes until you reawaken and start the whole process over again.
The worst part is, I don’t know who the real me is anymore. As much as I understand that you are a separate entity from me, I feel as though all my thoughts, feelings, and behaviours are so often dictated and controlled by you. This sort of symbiotic relationship is a necessary evil that I’ve just recently come to terms with.
That doesn’t mean that you can be in charge anymore.
We need each other to survive but you don’t need to be in charge. This is my life and I’m making the rules now. In my somewhat stable state, I’ve found ways to cut you off. Take away some of your weapons. As many of them as I could find. We are running things my way now. If you have a problem with that, you can take it and shove it up your ass! I may never be able to fully get rid of you, but at least I can find ways to tolerate living with you.