Raw Writing for the Real World of Bipolar

Sometimes it seems only strong people with infinite patience can stand a meaningful, long-term relationship with me. I always try my best. I even seek relationship advice and tips from those wiser than me, yet I still lose the most important people. I tell myself they cannot possibly put up with my "bipolar nonsense," and in my most depressed states, my brain insists that in the end, I neglect and hurt my loved ones.

People tell me I lavish attention on friends closest to me and then suddenly, carelessly dismiss them and any feelings they have. Perhaps if anyone else abandons them, that person doesn’t come across like a bad friend. But because they began to rely on me adamantly maintaining our friendship, the lack of my attention becomes hurtful. During periods of my Bipolar highs, instead of keeping these important social relationships, I'm at the mall buying thousands of dollars in clothes or new electronic gadgets. I just "disappear."And then when I eventually run out of money and all that excessive energy, I descend into an emotional place where I don't even have the energy to pick up the phone or send an email.

Then again, how self-centered of me to think that all my friends feel that way. Perhaps we drift apart naturally. Maybe my subconscious negative assumptions push them away, and I only imagine that my chaos ultimately causes our estrangement. How narcissistic to think that all these years later they consider me important enough to harbor any permanent ill will against. Conceivably, they merely tire of my “drama” and my overwhelming affection. Or simply one moves away, and the other one never calls the other back. I personally never feel regret if we drift apart, only shame that after all these years, I haven’t the guts to call and tell them how much I still love them.

In contrast to all that, the patience and understanding of the friends I keep (or fortunately rediscover) saves me from despair. They assure me that, unlike I assume, they never find my bipolar diagnosis a burden. Instead of thinking “what a complete psycho,” they consider me open, honest and one of their true and devoted friends. They trust me to never hold a grudge or purposefully hurt anyone. They know that 99% of the time, my bipolar disorder makes me consciously work harder to maintain my relationships. They tell me I enrich their lives, and time and distance cannot truly diminish the strength of our bond. And we can easily slip back into that wonderfully comfortable rhythm of friendship.

Laura Mae works as a graphic designer for her local library. She was finally diagnosed as bipolar at the age of 31. When she isn’t off in her private cave learning some kind of new art or useless skill, you can find her with her family or at a coffee shop listening to an iPod and surfing the internet. Contact her at her blog, Crazy is the New Sane.

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