For the Black women who've been to the deepest depths when the word crazy is all you got...

It is hard to love yourself when you do not know which version decided to show up that day. Maybe you do not feel like that, but here recently I have felt like that. In a capitalistic society that has made profiting off self care a new trend, the phrase “love yourself” is the wave. But how do you love yourself when you just found out your whole life you didn’t know who you were—mentally at least.

Last week, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2 disorder, OCD, and two severe phobias. This whole time I thought all I was suffering from was depression and anxiety, nothing more and nothing less. When they said I had OCD, I think that was the one that shocked me the most because I had this misconception that people with OCD were super clean freaks and organized and I am not that.

Before I dive into my thoughts about OCD, I want to first explain what bipolar type 2 is. Just like I had misconceptions about OCD I am sure many people have misconceptions when they hear the word bipolar. So Bipolar Type II is a mental illness that involves mood cycles between highs and lows and those highs are full of hypomanic episodes. So to everyone who ever told me I was talking too fast, I am sorry that is a sign of hypomania that I had no idea about. Also, all the times I was talking a little too loud without realizing it, again hypomania. Any time I caught an unnecessary and irrational attitude with you, again sorry unreasonable irritability for long periods of times is a form of hypomania. And for all those times, mainly to my husband and family members, that I had just unexplainable amounts of energy and little need for sleep and or made bad financial decisions—I am sorry.

You’re probably reading those above things thinking that: wait, thats normal everyone has good and bad days. Well you are right, which is why it really goes undiagnosed; however, the difference is these “highs” are followed by extended periods of extreme depression. I mean weeks at a time. And because the symptoms overlap but are completely different, people go undiagnosed for years and are given medication to treat depression that actually do nothing! (I would like my money back for all my doctor’s appointments AND medication I have bought).

For years, I felt like I was living the lyrics of Cranes in the Sky trying everything to feel better and nothing was working. This past September, I just felt like something was way off—more than usual—and so I began the process of figuring out how to get some more answers. Literally, months later here we are only a few days before World Bipolar Day was I diagnosed.

I was left reeling over the weekend. Sifting through everything I have done in the past and everything I claimed to be, I was trying to figure out had any of it been me at all? To all the people I hurt along my road to diagnosis, if those relationships need to be mended will they even believe me? Are all the creative ideas only a byproduct of a hypomanic state? And this is where that OCD diagnosis makes sense.

OCD is about much more than just tangible organization, instead it is about obsessive and intrusive thoughts. Not your typical anxiety where you cannot turn your brain off, but the inability to complete tasks because you are obsessed with whatever thought is in your head. For me, it shows up when I cannot obsessing over something simple. When it comes to organization, I like the thought and idea of organization and I start the beginning of semesters out on top of my shit; however, when I lose control of the clutter I cannot bring myself to get it back in order because I obsess over how I have to do it my way and perfectly and I know that will take too long . I then will obsess over my failure of letting my stuff get this cluttered and then i begin to think i must be an embarrassment.

So, how am I supposed to love myself and care for myself when I don't even know who the hell I am ? Who the hell have I been for the past 27 years of my life until now. I feel like I am a terrible person and have hurt people along the way. Have people been talking about me? Speculating that something must be wrong with me? Will my husband leave me because he cannot handle it anymore? (even though i know he won’t)

For the past three days I cry every time I look in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself anymore. It is not that my face has changed but it feels like a mask has been lifted. A mask that allowed me to make it this far in my life. The faking like I am okay. The smile that I wear even when I haven’t really slept longer than 4 hours a night. I don’t recognize this Joy that is fully vulnerable and exposed. This Joy has appeared in flashes before and brief glances; yet, this is the first time she is present every time I look in the mirror. It is jarring. But yet freeing.

So here I am, the day before World Bipolar Day writing this blog post as a way to help me process this new diagnosis as well as an advocate for Black women everywhere who just may feel off some days or for weeks/months. I am here to talk openly about this process of diagnosis and dealing with medication and all those things.

For the Black women who have been to the deepest depths and the highest of highs emotionally and only been called crazy in a derogatory way and never offered help, this openness is for you. For me.