***Trigger Warning***
Apparently I have to advise people before they read this that it contains certain elements that can potentially cause upset, or be detrimental to others well being due to its graphic, raw and extremely brutally honest nature. This is my explanation and my experience with having Bipolar and I have opened up to every aspect that is relevant and given a comprehensive explanation it. It contains the topics of extreme behaviour, substance abuse, self harm and the impact of mental illness.
The Interference
What it does to me is it interferes with my intentions.
I want to go to sleep; it keeps me awake.
I want to eat; it takes away my appetite.
And I want to stop drinking alcohol for a few days; it convinces me that one drink won’t hurt. And that one drink turns into four or five, or more.
I make plans to see people, then cancel them because it reminds me of every insecurity I’ve ever had.
It takes me back to my substance abuse, where I’ll take a gram of cocaine for no reason at all. It never ends with the solitary gram either and I find myself multiple grams deep, with an empty bank account and being an epitome of regret, disappointment and shame with the added pleasure of the comedown that’s imminently on its way.
It’s easy for people to think this is weakness, a lack of discipline, but it simply isn’t.
The Separation
I have limitations I’m fully aware of. When I don’t commit to something like a meal out, I often see puzzled looks. But I live with an illness that makes my brain work in mysterious ways.
Just because I might look well on the outside, smiling, chatting, doing fine, doesn’t mean I’m not fighting a monumental battle inside my own head.
If I had a £1 for every single time someone has said to me “You’re looking really well” in a sort of surprising manner, imagining that I should be looking as though I’d just crawled through a tunnel of despair, I’d be pretty well off by now. But the ignorance that comes with that resonating surprise of my appearance gives these people the impression that I’m not suffering. I wish I could let them have a few minutes inside my head, and then see their faces. Yeah, that’s a new moniker, “Don’t walk a mile in my shoes, spend a couple of minutes inside my head”.
People don’t always see that. They see the version of me that’s functioning, laughing, holding conversation, but inside, there’s a storm. A million thoughts racing from the negative to the irrelevant, to the positive and back again to the utterly obscure and meaningless shit that reminds me that I have forgotten about what I was thinking about in the first place.
That’s a part of what keeps leaving me exhausted. Sometimes, I just need to leave, to step away and find a bit of quiet. But here lies the problem, how can I tell people that without being a letdown? This is not a feeling that is fleeting or even changeable it seems, but rather a detrimental cause of how I attempt to be ‘normal’ that is floundering.
I don’t expect everyone to understand it, God, I barely understand it myself, but I’ve learned that being kind is far easier than being negative.
The Stigma
Let me be clear: Bipolar is not a personality type. It’s not like an extension of your persona. It’s a crippling psychological illness. That robs you of your personality.
It’s not a trend.
It’s not a punchline.
And it’s definitely not a badge of honour.
Nobody wakes up hoping for this diagnosis.
It’s not glamorous; it’s utterly exhausting. It’s chemical. And it’s misunderstood.
Bipolar impacts every layer of your life. From your memory, to your sleep, interferes with your relationships, and destroys your trust in yourself.
When people say “you’re not normal,” what they really mean is “you’re making me uncomfortable.”
But honestly, who decided normal was the goal?
I’m not here to make you comfortable.
I’m here to tell the truth.
The Truth
And the truth is, Bipolar Disorder doesn’t sit neatly between happiness and sadness. That’s because those aren’t the feelings you truly have. Happiness and sadness are what most people experience in response to life. Bipolar takes that away. It strips you of the ability to feel in that ordinary, grounded way. It replaces your feelings with a constant, consuming numbness.
There’s no steady paced middle ground, no quiet in-between. You become hyperactivity personified, or hide away as an hibernating recluse. Two extremes, each carrying their own kind of destruction.
Imagine having no control over what you want, what you like, what you care about, or even who you are?! Now try to imagine what becoming a victim of your own mind, which is ill is like?!
Now consider the fact that because your mind is ill, you are too.
The Descent
When depression hits, days stop being days, they become obstacles. You wake up and wish you hadn’t. You grab on to anything that gets you through each and every day:
Take your medication to dull the noise
Down as much alcohol as you can to drown the pain
Sniff, inject and indulge yourself in as many drugs as possible to escape your pain
Chain smoke cigarettes to calm your nerves and settle your pain
Turn to self-harm to feel something when you’ve gone numb in the search this time, for pain
But this elusive pain you try to remedy in some moments, and seek out in others, is nothing but an illusion. It’s an imaginary construct, one you’ve created and now keep alive. You never actually find the pain you’re searching for, or trying to escape from, because it isn’t hiding out there in the world. It’s already inside your head, quietly observing, feeding off every decision you make, which is only meaning that you’re strengthening it. You don’t just suffer it, you sustain it.
And you’ll still use these weapons you think can stop it. You continue to take too much medication. You keep drinking until you can’t stand. And you convince yourself one more line will fix it, but this only adds to the pain that’s already waiting for you. It’s laughing at you. You chain-smoke until your lungs ache. You cut, not to die, but to feel alive, or to stop feeling nothing at all.
Self-destruction mode activated!!!
Then comes the shame. Someone catches a glimpse of your scars, and you pull down your sleeve, pretending you’re fine. It’s not about vanity; it’s about defeat, it’s a reminder that you lost, and you’re still losing.
That’s what Bipolar does. It reminds you, every single day, that it’s still there. It’s crippling and it’s winning.
The High
Then, just as suddenly, mania arrives.
And fuck me, there’s nothing like it.
I’ve done cocaine and ecstasy, but neither come close to the high of Bipolar Mania. You’re invincible. Untouchable. You spend money like it’s infinite, take risks without reason. And live as though consequence is a myth.
You don’t sleep, you’re wired, you don’t need to. You can go for days, running on fumes and grandiosity.
In my manic periods, I’ve taken out loans and credit cards I didn’t remember applying for. When I came down, I’d find the paperwork hidden away. It was as if the manic version of me was taunting the depressed one, “here you go, sort my shit out!”.
It’s taken me years to clean up that mess. Years to make peace with the person I become when mania takes the wheel.
It’s also a situation where you can be in danger of getting yourself into trouble and potentially arrested for your actions as you are not aware of boundaries and laws. You don’t consider them, they don’t apply to you. You are in danger of spending all your money. Spending it on absolutely nothing and getting into debt. Ultimately you’re basically a complete knobhead and that is a very, very upsetting and utterly frightening situation to have to go through. It scares me immensely.
The Crash
And when it fades, depression greets you again. Typically familiar, heavy, relentless. There’s no middle ground, just a crash landing into numbness.
You’re left to pick through the wreckage of your own life, trying to make sense of what you did while you were gone. Amidst the darkness of your inability to see past getting out of your bed.
You don’t remember all of it, the chaos. This doesn’t mean the flashbacks don’t come. They arrive piece by piece, like shards of broken glass. You don’t get a break.
Depression isn’t just sadness. It’s emptiness. It’s waking up and wanting to go back to sleep. And it’s saying “I’m fine” because you can’t explain the void.
Days still aren’t days anymore. They’re that unwavering obstacle. The one which you add to for each and every time you are reacquainted with it.
And the only thing you can do is keep finding ways, however messy, however imperfect, to climb over these obstacles.
The Cycle
Then, as swiftly as the depression arrived, the uproar of mania surges once more. This wild, glittering chaos that lifts you beyond the edges of reason. For a fleeting while, it feels like freedom, freedom masqueraded as frenzy, as though life itself has opened its gates and invited you to dance without consequence. But soon enough, depression comes creeping back, prowling and stalking in the shadows, to seize you by the ankles and drag you down into that familiar abyss. In the blinking of an eye, a flash of light, this is how the cycle continues. This is how it is just a cruel pendulum swinging between elation and emptiness, stripping away any real sense of control, guidance or design, leaving you either absent from your own life or at the mercy of its extremes.
The Search for Peace
I know I probably confuse people. I have a happy personality but carry a sad soul. I’m bold yet painfully shy. I love deeply, but at times I feel completely detached. I’m healing while still hurting. I’m dedicated to growth, yet I still catch myself in cycles of self-sabotage.
I am a mix of contradictions, trying to make sense of it all.
More than anything, I’m searching for peace. In amidst the chaos of who I am.
So please, be kind.
I didn’t choose this life.
And Finally…..
I wrote this not for sympathy, but for understanding.
For too long, Bipolar Disorder has been dressed up as drama, or dismissed as moodiness, or romanticised into something it isn’t. The truth is far quieter — and far heavier.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading with an open mind. Every person living with mental illness has their own version of this story, but the thread that connects us all is the same: the desire to be seen, not judged.
Be patient with the people around you. You never know the weight someone’s carrying just to get through the day.
Remember, positivity breeds serenity 💙
About This Guest Post:
“The World & Me: The Story of My Bipolar Disorder” is a guest post written by fellow blogger Stuart Sanderson. He has shared mental health related guest posts before and wanted to share this one too. I think it does a fantastic job of describing his experience and those of others that suffer from bipolar disorder. If you would like to read more of his posts, and I would recommend you do, check out his blog here.
As always, do leave your thoughts in the comments section below.
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