I’m lucky. I’m going to start off this post with those words because they’re true. I have great parents, they may be divorced and they may hate each others guts but they love me to death, support me to my grave and I love them more than anything. My mom and my dad are my world.
I have amazing friends. I have a best friend who I’ve known for 10+ years from my hometown and she lives 50 feet away from me in a city that’s 5 hours from our hometown. I have another amazing friend who I see every single day, even though we don’t work together and she lives super far away. I have friends from childhood whom I still talk to. I have new friends and old friends and I’m so lucky to have all of them. I have amazing people in my life.
I live in a perfect city. I have fallen head over heels in love with Boston. I can walk everywhere, I live so close to the T that will take me to Cambridge where all of my amazing medical care is. I have access to everything I need. Boston is my own little sanctuary.
But I also have a weird head. I have bipolar 1 disorder. I’m not normal.
It’s frustrating when on the outside, people who don’t know, or do know, think I have it all. They see money, they see “status”, they see whatever they see. They see that I currently don’t have a job but am supported by my parents or that I belong to gyms like equinox, wear Vince shoes and wear expensive clothing brands. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t mean anything. The statement “money doesn’t buy happiness” is completely true. Money doesn’t buy me health. Money doesn’t buy my friendships. Money doesn’t buy me stability.
I am still mentally ill. I still struggle, every day. I still have to deal with my illness. I still take pills every day and every night. I still have to use skills or not use skills and self-sabatoge, essentially. I still have to deal with things that people who don’t have bipolar deal with. I have to make sure that I can set up a life thats manageable when others have the luxury of committing to things that I can’t. I can’t accept a job that has the hours of 7am-6pm or do other spontaneous things.
I put up a great front and as much as I like playing “dress up”. It’s not real. I’m lucky, as I said. I’m grateful for the things I have. I am so beyond grateful. I count my blessing, I also wish that sometimes, people knew. I wish they would know what I’ve been through. That my life isn’t all fancy events and expensive vacations but it’s locked-up hospitals and trekking 40 minutes on public transportation to therapy twice a week.
Hey, I guess we can’t have it all right?
I’ve hit rock bottom more times than I can count in the last 6+ months and what I’ve learned is that it doesn’t last. I have hated myself. I have felt hopeless, helpless and alone. But it’s okay. I keep trying. I struggle. I strive. But in the end, I’m alive and I have the best people in my life and for that, I am lucky.