Journal 2
What I Think About What I Am
My thoughts are more real to me than they are to some others. Maybe it is because they never stop, chattering in the back of my head. Sometimes they seem so real and present it frightens me. Sometimes an idea seizes me with such force and silence I can’t tell. Sometimes they argue when I’m about to make a decision. Sometimes I don’t know which is really me. Sometimes I just have to stop in the middle of something to keep myself from doing something truly stupid or harmful, and those truly scare me. Sometimes I don’t know what I am, instead of just not knowing who I am.
Sometimes, though, I am grateful for the big, broad thoughts- for the goals that seize me with purpose. Sometimes, I’m glad I am who I am. Sometimes, I think if I were completely normal, and not just this hybrid between completely ruled by my disorder and ‘cured’, or if I’d never had those dark years where I didn’t know what to do about this condition, I wouldn’t be as strong a person. I wouldn’t be as motivated or as passionate. I wouldn’t be who I am today. Maybe I wouldn’t even know that the one thing you can’t trade for your heart’s desire is your heart.
So when the depression and manic periods begin to overtake me, and I want to scream from the lack of control, I remind myself sometimes I may seem like I have blue hair or an alien accent to some people, blue hair and alien accents don’t have to be a bad thing.
Maybe I want to belong so badly it aches. But I don’t want to belong to something, some group of people that doesn’t accept me as I am.
Blue hair and alien accent and all.
(Okay, this one was way cheesy, but still.)