Normalcy never resonated with me. Normal children do not try to take their mother's lithium, hoping they can "sleep forever." Normal children do not pinch themselves when they get angry. Normal teenagers do not make themselves throw up after dinner because they are self-conscious about their weight despite not exceeding 150 pounds. So, being normal was something I knew that I would never be. Happiness was foreign to me. I experienced it once in a blue moon, and it was usually intertwined with mania. Manic episodes, no matter how destructive, always made me feel unstoppable. The feeling of euphoria would quickly spread through my body. A pearly white smile would always paint itself across my face, followed by the dilation of my pupils. Diamonds are well known to be a girl's best friend, but debit cards were mine. I loved the feel of the plastic in my hand as I swiped it through every card reader in any retail store that piqued my interest. As the weight increased on both of my arms as they filled with shopping bags, so did my mania. I was on top of the world...until I wasn't. What goes up must come down, and I was cruelly reminded of this when a cold, dark depression took the place of my once exhilarated mania.
When my depression took over, my world would turn inside out. Goosebumps would cover my arms, and the sinister presence of something lingering was not far behind. It would feel like a gray outcast covered the earth. My feeling of pure elation subsided, and I heard the caws of crows instead of the songs of sparrows. Weeds took the place of beautiful flowers, and my eyes transformed from energetic and bloodshot to low and lifeless. My fashionista outfits were stored away and exchanged for basic, oversized sweatsuits. I accessorized my sweatsuits with AirPods and made sure my music was loud enough to silence the turmoil going on externally and internally. I constantly battled with depression and was usually not the victor. Days faded into nights, but leaving my bed was not an option. My blankets wrapped me in their warm embrace, and my pillows caressed my head. My bed was where I felt safest, and my room was my domain. I would stay secluded within my favorite four walls until the depression even got tired of my seclusion and temporarily went away. Sometimes it took days, and sometimes it took weeks. Beads of sweat would soak my pajamas and cover my forehead. My stomach would throw a tantrum, reminding me of my skipped meals. Ignoring my body's malfunction, I stayed glued to the bed out of fear. Fearing that there there was nobody who could deal with me. My pieces were too shattered. This consistent cycle between mania and depression grew more and more exhausting as the years went on. I knew that it was not healthy, but what else was there to do? Who would help me? I wanted to feel happiness all the time. Not just once in a blue moon. So, I tried coping skills.
Poetry, listening to music, and painting were my favorite coping skills to implement when necessary. They helped to a degree, but they were not enough. I needed something that helped long-term, not just in the moment. Eventually, therapy came into play. Anger management was attempted, but ironically, it only made me angrier, and my walls were put up higher. Soon, I met someone who changed my life forever. My school arranged an appointment for me with someone by the name of Dr. Emily. I was skeptical, thinking it would be a repeat of anger management, but I still went out of desperation for a solution to my endless rollercoaster within. The calm, subtle sound of a white noise machine filled the air as I approached a mahogany wood door. The office belonged to Dr. Emily. The door was opened, and behind it stood a beautiful woman. She had the most welcoming smile and rosy cheeks to compliment it. She invited me in, and after introductions, we started our first session together. Not everyone loves their therapist on the first try. Thankfully, luck was on my side for once. I loved Dr. Emily. For the first time in years, I finally felt seen. My feelings were validated, and they were able to be talked about freely without any backlash. It felt relieving to have someone to talk to without feeling like I was bothering them. Dr. Emily's office ended up becoming my safe space, and she became my primary psychotherapist. I still remember getting ready for bed the day I met Dr. Emily for the first time. As I reminisced about it, a warm feeling aroused in me. The tension from my shoulders was released, and the tightness in the front of my head disappeared. This feeling was abnormal to me. I felt...happy. I prepared for the mania to rush in like a typhoon, but it did not come. My happiness came alone. It must have been a blue moon.
