Trigger warning: abuse
If bipolar was a real thing or being, what would it look, sound and behave like?
If Bipolar was a being, it’d be the name those two really close friends decided to dub themselves. Depression and Mania, friends who are so different yet so close.
Depression is my partner. My abusive partner, I should specify.
Mania is the hyperactive friend who leads me astray.
Depression is a disgusting slob, not the guy I’d usually pick out. He’s fat and lazy and wears a stained tshirt. He gets upset when I try to look pretty because he thinks I’m showing him up.
Mania is considered a bit of a slut. She wears tight dresses and bright colours, even to work. People tell her she’s being inappropriate but she’s impervious to criticism.
Depression doesn’t really talk, just watches TV all day and grunts when he has to. But he can be loud when he shouts. So loud I can’t hear anything else. I can hardly tell what he’s saying, it’s just like a screaming in my ear and it hurts.
Mania can’t be understood simply because she talks a million miles a minute. Goes on and on and on to me. It makes it confusing when I try to repeat what she says – I just end up jumping from one idea to the other and I become a poor conversationalist.
Depression is an asshole, but I only realise that when he leaves me alone. If I thought about it when he’s around I’d realise it, but I’m too busy listening to what he tells me. “You’re worthless, you’re nothing.” I don’t have the willpower to leave him.
Mania is much nicer though. When I leave Depression she’s right there to remind me how awesome I am, how fantastic and wonderful and powerful I am. How I can get anything in the world. Mania is nice. I don’t like to leave her.
Depression doesn’t let me leave the house. With my bruised body I struggle to get out of bed anyway. He stops me from seeing my friends. “They don’t want to see you”. I’m too tired to argue.
Mania takes me out to clubs and keeps buying me drinks. She tells me I should sleep with that guy, and that guy, and that girl. And oh, the pills she gave me make me so happy. Do I have a boyfriend? I don’t consider it. The night is mine.
Depression puts a gun to my head sometimes.
Mania is reckless.
She’s a lot of fun but she gets me into a lot of trouble and I’m growing old of it. She doesn’t like that, she turns mean real quick and everything that was fun becomes terrifying and I’m so confused I don’t know what to do. I lose control. I should have stopped it at the start but it was so much fun. Now I’m her playtoy. She tells me that people want to hurt me. I want to run. She tricks me into seeing things. I want to hide. I don’t like it, it’s not fun anymore.
They come and go out of town. Sometimes they visit together and that’s when the real fun is.
I like it when they’re both away. I can think clearly again. They’re visiting less and less now, and that makes me happy. I’m always terrified of the next visit though. People tell me to enjoy the present but when someone holds a gun to your head, or makes you feel like others want to hurt you, you get scared.
I’m getting stronger though. I’ll break the ties eventually.