By Heather

A few weeks ago after a rousing nine holes of golf, my father and I were having a heart to heart over some wine and in my less completely lucid state, I casually mentioned to him that I have a Bipolar disorder after he commented on my improved behavior over the past few months. I said “Oh, I’ve been on medication for my bipolar disorder” with a causal wave of the hand like I said “Oh, I’ve been on some Sudafed for this cold” like it was a perfectly normal thing to say to a parent.

His reaction was at first dubious and then of anger. Not towards me, of that I’m sure, but that anger and sadness of a parent for their child when they perceive that their child is hurting. He pounded his fist on the deck and then looked away and started speaking of a man on the putting green in front of us, while I said that it was really Ok.

My feeling ‘ok’ with being diagnosed with a bipolar disorder has been a long time coming. Though at first it was if someone had simultaneously pulled the carpeting from beneath my feet while clearing up so much of my oft-atrocious behavior for years. Things made sense while not making sense at all because, as I so lovingly announced to my psychiatrist, I’m fucking crazy. But at the same time, everything for the past five years made perfect fucking sense and eerily so.

The other night someone in a recently made group of friends told me how ‘normal’ and ‘un-dramatic’ and ‘bitchy’ I am. I laughed it off and said that my normalcy is only by way of a Lithium and Klonopin cocktail and even then I don’t feel normal. I’m conflicted as one can obviously tell. On the one hand, I’m ok with telling people that I have a bipolar disorder and don’t feel it’s that big of a deal on the other hand, I fear how certain people will react when I tell them that it is impossible for me to function without medication. I’ve yet to tell my mother because of this.

Though for the most part the reaction of others – which probably shouldn’t matter and yet it does – has been fine. Because in their words I’m just so “normal”. I’m still ‘normal’ but am in desperate need of something extra to keep me as rational and ‘normal’ as possible. Then again, who really is ‘normal’ anyway?