I’ve always done a good job of hiding my inner turmoil. I don’t know if that comes from people surrounding me always telling me I was fine or something else, but I’d imagine most people would see me as a bright young man with a lot going for himself. I wish they could look inside. If they could, they’d see an endless cycle, a mysterious force that ebbs and flows inside of me that controls every thought and action that comes from my brain. I wish they could see the hell that I endure every single day, a hell that has grown exponentially over time. Nobody sees the pain, and no one hears the voices. The voices screaming that I am a waste of space and that I’m not worth saving. The anger that swells in me like a tsunami, drowning me under cresting waves of anxiety and rage. I’m a ticking time bomb, a pool of gasoline anxiously anticipating a match that’s ready to fall at any moment.

Most of the time, I feel lifeless. I flake on my friends and I refuse to talk to anyone, even when I know it would be good for me to do so. It feels like there are weights, shackles that bind me to my chair and hold me in a cycle of despair. I stuff myself with junk food and spend money I don’t have, acting as if I’m following commands like a computer program executing code. It’s all so routine, a schedule with contents I’m not allowed to see. At any moment, I switch like a circuit breaker and become someone else. A man of rage and of hatred. A man that can’t handle the body he’s in. It’s scary.

I can’t figure out who I am. I want to believe that I am a man that prides himself on being humble and being grateful for everything I have. I want to help people, I want to make a difference in this world and do all that I can to put others first. Yet at any moment, another “me” appears. He stares into my soul and tells me I’m someone else. He shouts at me, triggering my “fight or flight response.” I feel like I’m fighting my arch nemesis, and I beat him. I punch him in the face, I punch him in the arms. I slam his head against the door. I try to defeat him with whatever I can: metal spoons, furniture, whatever is available. This can happen at any time and as frequently as once per day. The problem is that this person I’m fighting, is me. When I’m lying on the ground crying, begging myself to stop, I realize that I am the man I hate the most. I am the one that wants to hurt myself beyond the human instincts that keep me from doing any permanent damage. This is who I’ve become.

No one sees this. No one sees me leave the grocery store and slam my head against the car window in the back of the parking lot. Nothing has helped. Even the medicine that I’ve been graciously given from my local community center has stopped working. My episodes of anger get worse, and I’ve slowly lost my sense of social awareness that makes sure that I put on my happy mask in public. I don’t know what to do. There’s a part of me that has convinced myself that this will only get worse, that eventually the pain will be unbearable. I hope that’s not true. I have so many things to live for and so many people that depend on me and want to see me succeed. I don’t want to disappoint them. I just wish there was something I could do. I wish there were a string of words I could recite that would dispel the sickness that’s inside of me. Being diagnosed has helped me accept my situation, but it doesn’t help me fix this problem that has festered inside me all these years.

Bipolar disorder feels like my identity. I can’t tell if this other person inside me is the “real” me or if it’s all in my head. I can’t help but wonder why all of these negative thoughts are in my brain at all if they’re not who I am. How can this part of me not be me, but something outside of “Brenden”? Is it possible that these parts of me coexist? I don’t want to live in anger and hate. I want to love, I want to make the world a better place. It’s a difficult situation.

I just want to be a functioning member of society. I want to work, I want to love my girlfriend and my family and my pets. I just want to enjoy this life while I have it. I really hope that someday I will be able to do that. But with no financial assistance, no disability, and trial and error in order to find a medicine combination that works, it’s a daunting task. I hope you learned something about me today, especially if you’ve known me at any point. If you have, I’m sorry that I haven’t always acted rationally. I hope you have a better understanding of that now. Thank you for reading.