On the weeks that I am on my high, you will love me on some days and on other’s I will make you sick. I will want to make love to you until our bodies physically collapse. And sometimes, when we finish I will feel so much that I will cry. I will sob for hours. No matter how many times I try to explain that it’s not your fault, you will never understand. You see, when I’m manic sometimes things become so beautiful that they’re overwhelming. Sometime’s I’m unsure of whether or not the beauty that makes me cry out of sadness or appreciation for the life I’m living. All I know is sometimes gazing at a lover, even one I just met that night, can make my chest feel like it’s filling up with water and my fingertips begin to shake because I’m in awe of the intimacy.
Sometimes on the weeks that I am manic, I’ll hurt myself because the intensity of it all will become too much. And like before, I will try to explain to you that the slices lining my wrists and thighs are not your fault, even though you will never believe me.
You’ll begin to pity me because you can’t understand why someone would love the pain so much. And I can’t begin to explain to you why anyone would either, because I haven’t quite figured it out yet.
And sometimes on the weeks that I’m manic, I’ll stray away from you. I will start to convince myself that you can’t possibly love someone like me, so I need to hurt you before you hurt me. I will let use sex as a another way to leave scars across my skin and drugs to ease the pain. Reflecting on my illness, this is the worst part of all. For a week, or maybe even a few, you will lose me to drugs and alcohol. I will feel euphoria at the beginning of the night, dancing and soaking in all of the emotions around me. But when it all crashes down, and the night begins to end, you will find me curled up in a ball at the bottom of your bed like a helpless infant. Sometimes I will get angry and blame you for the reason why I am like this. And sometimes I will get sad and cry to the point where my words will no longer make sense, and you’ll know to get the garbage can because I will start vomiting from my sobbing soon.
When the manic weeks end, if we have made it through them, I beg you to please try to look at me the same. But you will know that they’ll be back within a few months and you’ll begin to hate the person you love again.
On the weeks that I’m on the other side of myself, you will constantly worry that this might be the night I eat all of the pills again. I never want to be your burden. My room will become so messy it’s unlivable and you’ll have to pretend like it’s ok. And some days I won’t eat at all, while on other’s I’ll eat until I can’t help but vomit. Some nights you will have to physically force yourself into my room because I won’t be able to get out of bed. I will rip at my skin like it’s not attached to me and you will have to stick my medications down my throat because the thought of getting better on these days seems impossible.
On these days I will be weak. But if you decide to love me, you do not need to be strong. You will have fallen in love with someone who has the weakness of loving things so much that it hurts. This weakness is not romantic. This weakness is painful and it will give you the chance to manipulate me. If you decide to love me, my bipolar disorder is a part of me. And if you love me enough, you will accept that sometimes you may lose the person you love for a few days or a few weeks, but she will be right back home soon enough.