I am a bipolar bear.

Big day for me today. I have just been assessed to be fit to go back out into the world.

A few months ago, I shared how much I had struggled with my mental health and I've been hesitant about sharing this journey out of fear but I believe it's high time that we continue talking about our personal struggles. Times have changed. People don't judge for mental health struggles anymore; people take advantage of it.

Embarrassing as it may be, I had a meltdown. Not because of work. Not because of my relationship. Not because of my family. Not because of the traffic nor the world in general. I had a meltdown because I had been genetically configured for the chemicals in my brain to be imbalanced. Anyone who is truly close to me has witnessed this first-hand. Anyone who is truly close to me knows how intense I can be. Guess what, normal people aren't intense all the time. Normal people can go on their days without obsessing about every little thing. Guess what, normal people don't think the way I do and that is why normal people can't do what I do, either.

Today, instead of living in shame and believing that I am cursed, I shall embrace what I have. I shall wear it like a medal, along with my heart on my sleeve. I have bipolar disorder. Let me be that person you know to have this condition. Let me be that person you ask for help from. I shall not give you advice. I shall direct you to where you can seek real help.

People are predisposed to reject and mock what they do not understand. I shall try to shed some light unto this illness. This is not who I am. This is not what my life is all about. I am a kind person. I am a sister, a friend, a girlfriend, a colleague, a mentor, a student, a writer, and a surfer. I am not bipolar.

Occasionally, my brain tells me I'm sad even when there is nothing to be sad about. What's bad is when something sad actually happens and then I'll have something to direct my sadness toward. This is the side of the illness that is called depression. Personally, it's worse when my brain tells me that I'm excited even when there is nothing to be excited about. It's good when good things happen. I get so hyped up and psyched that I can accomplish anything. I can go on for days without sleep - planning, thinking, and  working. What's bad is when something wrong happens. Did you know that the physical manifestations of excitement and anxiety are the same? Once the panic attacks begin, there is no turning back. Everything will irritate me and I will no longer have any control over how that irritation translates in my words and behavior. This is the side of the illness that is called mania.

I am not one to make excuses but there may be no better time than to apologize for all that I have said and done. I have been irresponsible and arrogant for not taking my medication regularly and relying on my self-control. I wish I could tell you that going to the beach makes everything better. I wish I could tell you that a warm hug takes away all the negativity. They help, yes. But they're not enough. No matter how well I take care of myself, I have to rely on a few tiny pills to be healthy.

(On a side note, the pills concoction isn't a *magic* potion that would change an asshole into a more acceptable human being. Your thoughts are your own. Your feelings are your own. If you think ill of people, no pill can change that. An attitude of gratitude is the only cure. Rainbows don't suddenly come out of your derriere when you're on anti-depressants. You still need to believe in the goodness in other people and, most importantly, in yourself.)

Today, I write this with the commitment that I won't leave my mental health to chance anymore (albeit with shaking hands as a side effect). Today, I am humbled to accept that I have a disability and I am proud to be handicapable.