© Since December 7, 2016 (All Rights Reserved).
On December 31, 2016, I was on my way to a party to celebrate. The New Year was ahead, I had recently graduated college and was working a good job. It seemed like I had it all figured out. In truth, I was lost, starting to feel hopeless, and thought that if I got dressed up and headed out to this murky ass hotel by the DTW airport, I would smoke some weed with friends, have a few drinks and could maybe turn my sadness around.
In March of that year, I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. I wrote a book about it that year, also, and released it in July. At the close of 2016, I had the chance to take the reigns of my life and illness. Instead, bipolar disorder took full control over me, and was beginning to swallow me whole. And that was only the beginning.
That next day, I woke up with my friend (at the time), as she slept on the hotel bed, and a bunch of others spread out in the room, while I laid on the floor curled up in a corner. My undergarments were off, I was half naked, head was banging with the worst headache, and liquor bottles and leftover fast food bags trashed beside me. All the while, my friend’s brother was busy lifting up my right thigh, and halfway in motion of entering himself inside of me. Without my actual consent. I laid there, though, and I let it happen. To this day, I cannot remember his name.
I brought in the New Year filled with pills, drugs, booze, and some random penis, and a mountain of pain inside me. Most importantly, I brought in the New Year feeling so lost. To go from being a recent honors college graduate to pill popping, partying and escaping in promiscuity – it felt foreign. That was not me, but that is exactly who I had become.
At the time, I didn’t realize what was happening, nor what had caused me to make such bad decisions that NYE. Today, I know that that experience was something called an untreated, manic bipolar episode. Manic episodes, can be sporadic, uncomfortable and even dangerously intense, but also be brewing right underneath the surface.
As a Black Woman, I don’t feel that we are really allowed to ever have them. Society has long thrown us in the ditch of stereotypes and fights to keep us there, no matter what we overcome, confront, express or accomplish. We can’t have anxiety, bipolar, be depressed, vulnerable, scared, nervous, or angry. And we DAMN SURE can’t be manic.
If a Black woman is seen being promiscuous, the decided opinion is a quick one: she is a hoe. A thot. A rat. And that’s it! BUT………..maybe, she’s not. Maybe…just maybe, there is more to her story.
Bipolar disorder is a complex one. Manic episodes, are often VERY MISUNDERSTOOD. Sometimes, this illness causes us to make really bad decisions that we sometimes feel we cannot come back from. But that can’t be any further from the truth.
YOUR PAST DOES DEFINE WHO YOU ARE (I’m sure you already know that). But guess what? NEITHER does your illness. Neither does your Bipolar disorder. Neither does your last manic episode or mental breakdown that might have happened in public. Neither does that mistake that you made while battling something that is not your fault. These things will NEVER be a representation of who you are, and what you have the ability to become. You can ALWAYS turn that shit around.
“MANIC” episodes can hurt. But developing your strength to cope with them, can HEAL.
Take the reigns of your life.
Until PART TWO. 🙂
R.K.B. is an award winning self-published Author, Poet and Entrepreneur from Detroit, Michigan.
Visit her website to stay updated on her blog, “VodkaforMondays,” and upcoming events: intomywoods.com to learn more!