this post is probably going to scare you.

and if you’re not ready to be scared, now, then

well

stop reading.

also, i’m not interested in your input on this post. because i don’t write for an audience.

i write for myself.

remember?

today i had a large iced coffee from dunkin. i felt caffeinated. for me, that means i felt more energetic. i was speaking faster. my thoughts were moving faster. my awareness was increased. i felt happier. i was more productive.

sound familiar?

yesterday i had a few glasses of wine. i felt more sociable. i felt happier, more hopeful, more peaceful. i was smiling more widely. my fear lessened. i was brighter, i was more charismatic, i had a different energy about me.

sound familiar?

today i’m sitting in the sun. i feel warmer. i feel happier than i usually do. i’m writing as i sit. i’m smiling here, by myself. i’m grateful. i’m hopeful. i’m at peace. i’m very productive. my brain feels active.

sound familiar?

last night i went to the rehearsal dinner for my cousin’s wedding. today is the ceremony. love was in the air. i, along with everyone else, felt a swelling of the chest. the music filled our hearts. their love empowered us all.

sound familiar?

if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that all of these are symptoms of ‘mania.’

they are the feelings, the tendencies, the symptoms that were identified as irregular by doctors who had known me for less than 24 hours. they are the behaviors that characterize all of us

every single one of us

when we are drunk, high, in love, happy, productive, full of coffee, having fun,

when we are experiencing anything good.

my point, i suppose, is that for those of us who have been dubbed as ‘manic’ by those who aren’t qualified to do so, for those of us have been misdiagnosed and undiagnosed over and over again, for those of us who have been forced into mental hospitals, for those of us who have been mistreated and coerced, illegally, to take medication that we don’t want, the question has to be asked.

what really made me

what really makes us

so different from the rest of you?

the answer is fear.

many authors before me have written this:
as your power grows, so does others’ fear. so does others’ insecurity. so does others’ discomfort.

many of us see that as a reason to subdue our power, to avoid pursuing our potential and achieving what all know we can achieve.

one of the nurses moved faster, spoke faster, and was more charismatic than anyone i had ever met. was she manic?

and if she wasn’t, why was she exhibiting more of the symptoms of mania

more often, with more regularity, and in more extreme ways

than i ever was?

she was just on the other side of the curtain, maybe.

my point is that whenever someone becomes powerful, whenever someone becomes remarkable, whenever someone becomes successful, we can depend on a few things happening.

other people will get scared. others will be intimidated by their success. they’ll be impressed, yes, but they’ll also grow resentful. they’ll be angry. they’ll be jealous. they’ll be scared because they’ll see that another human (we’re all human, remember) can do great, phenomenal, impressive things, things better than they’ve ever done.

feeling lesser than someone else is terrifying. and nothing makes you feel less than quite like someone appearing to be so much more than.

mania, the word, was dubbed in the 14th century. it meant, “mental derangement characterized by excitement and delusion.”

today, it means “to have a period of abnormally elevated, extreme changes in your mood or emotions, energy level or activity level.”

extreme? abnormal? what do these things even mean? how can we ever, ever, hope to measure them?

by this definition, in periods of your life when you exercised more than you usually did, you were manic. in periods of your life when you were happier than you usually are, you were manic. in periods of your life when you were more productive, or busier than you usually are, you were manic.

my theory is the term mania was devised to make people who felt less than make themselves feel more than.

because calling someone who’s high achieving, who’s productive, who’s sociable, who’s all of these good things we all strive to be,

labeling someone like that as ‘mentally ill’

well. i’m sure that makes all of you feel a whole lot better about yourselves.

but does it? does it really?

i hope it doesn’t. because to those of you that haven’t been in mental hospitals

(which is not because you are any better or healthier than i am, you just haven’t been labeled as abnormal by a broken, subjective, terrifying system)

forcing us into hiding, forcing pills down our throats, forcing our brains to become dependent on medication for the rest of our lives, forcing us into homelessness and back into these hospitals over and over again

(i say us because i speak not for myself, but for every ‘patient’ that finds themselves stuck in these places)

forcing us into a system that is built for you does not help us.

it never has.

wake the fuck up.

you have no idea what these places are like. you have no idea what these people are like. you have no idea what it’s like to depend on a pill to function. you have no idea what it’s like to be coerced, lied to, and to be fully aware of every single thing that’s happening along the way.

you have no idea what it’s like to sleep on a bare stretcher under bright white lights without a pillow, sheets, or blankets while being watched by a security guard (the ones that don’t hesitate to force people against walls and against the floor, the ones that don’t hesitate to put their knees on our necks because they absolutely can)

you have no idea what it’s like to fear for your life because you had mistaken your violent roommate’s toothbrush for yours.

so stop giving me advice, i don’t want it. stop telling me i need help. stop forcing misery into my life,

into all of our lives

because i’m different from you.

it’s all bullshit. and i am angry. i am angry at the system for existing. i am angry at the nurses and doctors for following orders instead of following morality. i am angry at the security guards for not wondering, even for a second, about whether they are really helping people (they are not, at all). and i am angry at my family and friends for forcing me into a place

again

that i begged them to keep me out of.

and i did beg. i pleaded with you. you remember. i begged for your help, but you did not care.

i begged you, too. i begged for you to tell me what was wrong, i begged for you to be honest with me.

i begged you to trust me when you were honest with me. i begged you to believe that i was taking care of myself, fulfilling my obligations, because i absolutely and objectively was.

i begged you not to speak to my mother, because i told you she would make things worse, i told you she would lie and manipulate and do whatever she could to get me into another hospital.

i told you that she was coming for one reason. she was coming to get me back to another hospital. i saw it coming from a mile away. i called you one night, i was crying, i was shaking from fear, i told you exactly what was coming.

and you, in the end, helped turn what i fear most into reality.

and you suggested she call the cops to find me.

you fell for her act.

you forgot everything i had said to you because i was,

i was right

the entire time.

why do you think i jumped out of the car? the car that was not moving, the car that was completely stationary? why do you think i ran around boston? why do you think i didn’t tell you where i was? why do you think i threw my old phone out the window? why do you think i ubered home alone? why do you think i pretended to be scared when i wasn’t? why do you think i acted so convincingly, why do you think i put on different faces for different people? why do you think i manipulated each of you? why do you think i turned my location on and off, over and over again?

i wanted to disappear. because i knew what was coming. i knew what each of you would do.

and i knew it weeks before it happened.

i was terrified. and i did everything

absolutely everything

i could to escape. not because i was manic. not because i was ill. but because i knew exactly what each of you would do,

because i was terrified

and because i needed to escape.

when i left the hospital for the second time, i wasn’t as angry at the world. i also, most certainly, was not angry at the world when i was in the hospital.

i was happy to be there. i did know how things worked. i did make so many friends. i met countless, remarkable, loving, caring people who helped me in more ways than i could have imagined possible.

the hospital helped me, this time. but it helped me because of my actions in, and the choices i made in, the hospital.

you had nothing to do with it.

but now i am angry.

now i feel like i cannot trust you.

now i feel like i have to protect myself from the people that love me the most.

and that

that is the most terrifying part of it all.

sometimes, (this time), the biggest threat is not even my own brain.

it’s the people that i have surrounded myself with

for too long

that fight for themselves instead of for me.

and though i don’t blame you (i fight for myself too)

and though i still love you (i’m working on forgiveness)

i hope you won’t forget

that sometimes

i am right.

this system does need to change.

and we

all of us

‘patients’

deserve better from those of you

who have never

been

‘patients’

at all.