When Everything Gets Bipolar, So I Believe

When I was seven, I nearly stabbed my Mom with a knife because she did not want to take me with her to the hospital. When I was seven, I tried breaking my father’s motorcycle because he would not take me to the town with him. When I was a child, I wanted all of them to be dead. All these thoughts and actions happened out of the emotions–anger, hate, resentment–which surged out because of unexplained reasons. Just because I felt like it. Because by doing that, I would be satiated. Needless to say, my family considered me the black sheep. One simple reprimand would break me into tears and tantrums. I was a handful. Much worst, my sexual urges developed when I was still very little. I had my first experience at the age of six.

As I grew older, I have become self-effacing, trying to conceal myself to the whole world, repressing my emotions, out of fear anyone who discovers the real me would shudder at my laconic demeanor. For almost twenty two years, I tried to live a very normal life. A life people want me to live, things people want me to achieve. But deep inside, there is a child who seriously needs help. Acceptance. A child who manages to control himself despite doubts and fears. A child who tries to understand himself despite the darkness that adumbrates his psyche.

Growing into maturity has been a wayward journey, an unending quest for answers. I turned to religion. I turned to magic. I turned to arts, which greatly plays an important role in understanding my self more. Without poetry, without music, without painting, I could have drowned myself into the pit of despair. I could have killed myself sundry times already. And still, from time to time, the nightmare from my childhood keeps haunting me–the surge of emotions, the mood swings, the self-effacement–they are all coming back to me now, as the popular song goes.

When I turned 29 last week, something had triggered this nightmare to return. And again, this unexplained feeling that the world is turning against me, even my closest friends. There was this urge to hate everybody, to shut myself from the world, to let the world come into my control. I had been down in the dumps, and I was happy for a second, and at the end of the day, everything was just so crazy. If this is what growing old means, then I will not have it for the world. Not ever. But I cannot stop myself from growing old and along with the growth entails, well. depression.

Just to let everyone know, whether they care about it or not, I have a bipolar tendency. In layman’s Hiligaynon term, “katok.” There are deep reasons behind this display of disorder. I don’t want people to understand me, and I’m not even apologizing. Let me be. I just want an assurance that despite all these, I have someone to turn to. I have been dealing with this for a very long time. I guess, being 29, I could handle myself better. There is still the child who still needs help.

I have been taking BP self-tests and the results are quite alarming. I am trying to deny it, but looking back, it would not be a surprise that I’m suffering from that disorder. The tests though do not affirm my condition but they will serve as bases for psychological help. But deep inside, I am really praying that this is just a phase that I could overcome. Because this is something not to be proud of.

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