Sharing the story

Someone from the center asked me if I would meet with them to discuss my bipolar disorder.  She is someone who brings a client's success story to the table at every board meeting.  Each month she has chosen another person or family whose lives have changed for the better because of the services they receive at the center.  The only drawback is that she does not have the opportunity to ask them in depth questions.  She can only listen to what they wish to tell her and then make that into a nice, neat package to deliver to the board members.  She wanted to know more.  What are the symptoms, warning signs, triggers?  What is it like to feel the way someone does when they are on the edge of suicide or in the depths of darkness?  What are hallucinations like?

Deb and I go back a couple of years now.  We have been on convention trips together to other states.  We have had breakfasts, lunches and dinners together.  We have walked the San Diego pathways and seen Mickey Mouse in Orlando together.  I trust her.  When came to me and asked me if I would share those pieces of myself with her, I readily agreed. 

I am an open book when it comes to my illness.  I may not expose it with people on my own, but if someone asks me a direct question, I am happy to share.  Educating others helps to reduce the stigma.  And it's therapeutic for me.

We sat in Village Inn yesterday morning and talked for almost two hours about bipolar disorder and how it affects my life, what my symptoms are, my triggers, my recent hospitalization, the auditory hallucinations I had when I was younger, the cutting, etc.  There are some things I hold back, I still have to wear my masks. 

She cried at the end of our conversation.  It always suprises me when someone cries after hearing parts of my story.  I spent most of my life feeling such a lack of validation.  Tears from someone when it comes to what I have experienced or what I deal with is almost uncomfortable for me.  I appreciate it.  I feel that validation I waited so long for.  But I don't know what to do.  I want to apologize for making them feel bad.  I want to rewind some of the things I unveiled and unsay them.  I second guess what I've said out loud.  I wonder if I revealed too much.  My masks begin to quiver from fear.  I, on the other hand, do not cry when I share my story.  I cry when I'm alone.  When I tell my story I disconnect from it.  When I talk about having bipolar and how my depression affects me I remove my present emotions from the equation. 

Despite the tears she shed at the end, it felt good  to share pieces of my story with Deb.  It reminds me that I am real and my experiences are real and what I go through is real.  There is no pretending that it's not there.  There is no point in ignoring the obvious.  It is how I got here, what I have been through and who I am right now. 

Some people feel that a person's story is just their past and that they can get trapped by it.  I don't feel that way at all.  It is our stories that bring us to this point in our lives.  It is part of what has formed us into the people we are.  The only way to get trapped by it is by not accepting it.  To me, running away and not looking back is not a sign of strength.  It is a sign of fear.  It has taken a lot more courage for me to face it all head on than it ever did to hide from it.

I will continue to share my story with anyone who asks.  It is part of the process.  Part of the journey.