We’ve been taught to lie since birth. Maybe not lying on purpose or a spoken lie, but everyone lies by hiding what they’re feeling, a figurative veil. I seem like a happy person, “talkative” and “hyper” and “average”. Average isn’t what I would use to describe myself, sometimes not even the other words. My mind is far from average and happy. Everyone has moments of anger, but most people get them for a legitimate reason, an argument or a scathing comment. For me, even the slightest things can make me go crazy. My brother could simply just say “I’m too busy to take the dog out” and that will make me furious for absolutely no reason.

My mother told me that when I was an infant, I supposedly cried so much that I was kicked out of all the daycares I was ever put in. Apparently, all my nannies quit too because I was the “trouble child.” Obviously I was destined to be the “devil child” from the beginning. I’m always prone to sudden changes in mood, I don’t know why.

It’s gotten a lot worse with age. When I was a kid, it’s understandable, like “she doesn’t know better” but by the time you’re fifteen, it’s a bigger deal. “With great power comes great responsibility” or in my opinion “great stress.” At this point, random comments make me almost cry; I have to clench my fists and deep breathe to get past it. My grandmother has given me a special silver necklace with a gorgeous pearl in the center. It’s supposed to help keep my moods from fluctuating. The problem is, I was supposed to put it on on a Monday but I put it on on a Saturday. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t work.

This year was the worst.

Counselors are constantly talking about how time management is key, but we all know that it’s too hard to adhere to a proper schedule. Nobody’s got time for that. Maybe that’s why this year and last, my life has been spiraling out of control. Getting five hours of sleep and not eating is really not that good for you and your mental state. Plus, you can’t show the crazy side of you at school because you will be shunned and left alone. I hid it. I wrote in my journal to avoid the world.

I tried to do everything everyone wanted of me. I know that I need to get a good grade on my essay to get an A in the class, I know that I need to outshine everyone else for my application for an internship, and I know that I need to destroy everyone else at the Poms Tryouts. The stress kept building up and I kept crashing. I would come home mad at the most random things, things like “how the bus came a little bit later” so I “now I won’t be able to finish my homework”, etc. Just pointless things that probably did not affect anything or each other. Then I would just yell and rage at my brother, an easy target.

“Can you give me some water?” He would ask.

“Oh my god, no, get your own water, I get 5 hours of sleep so don’t you dare ask me for anything” I would yell back, sometimes even chasing him. A few times, when I’m not in my right state of mind, I resorted to physical violence, kicking or pinching him.

This was usually followed by my mother yelling and screaming at me that I belong in a mental asylum. So obviously this doesn’t help my situation either. Maybe a mental asylum might be nice because then I can be away from everyone that confuses me or causes my breakdowns.

After this I would just go to my room and do my homework or Youtube for hours, but when I would go back downstairs, I would remember what happened earlier in the day, ruining the atmosphere making it dark and intense. This would just irritate me more. My mother would just ask me to unload the dishwasher and I couldn’t cope with this because for some reason, my brain comprehends this as a threat in the dark unpleasant world.

There was definitely a trend. We just didn’t notice how fast it was advancing and how fast I was changing.

Crack.

Snap.

Twist.

One day, it just got too far. The rage monster got out of control, and things broke. The blinds broke, the chair broke, everything broke, the items and the emotions. All I remember after this was the quick drive to the doctor’s and the referral to the therapist after. It was intense, waiting for the call back. It was like waiting for my execution.

The call finally came. The doctor came in and sat down. Her face was serious.

“You have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”