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  • Writer's pictureNima

"Bipolar in a cocktail" A journey through Bipolar Disorder-Part 2

Updated: Aug 19, 2023

In these entries, I'll recount events and moments as I've come to understand and remember them. They might toe the line between fact and fiction, but they're an honest representation of my memories and feelings. A word of caution: some content might not be suitable for young readers or those easily offended, so reader discretion is advised.


Through these writings, I'm revisiting certain situations that continue to haunt me, in the hope of finding a way to navigate life amidst my medication and persisting frustrations. I feel the answers lie within these words.


At 16, my therapist recommended lithium, suspecting I had bipolar disorder. Back then, I was fairly oblivious about this condition. What I did know was that my mother was on antidepressants, and medication was a common sight at home. I sporadically took my prescribed pills, oddly feeling a sense of distinction: "I am on medication," as if it finally gave me an identity. Embracing my mental health struggles felt almost empowering.


My late teens drifted by with erratic medication adherence and little mental self-care. Transitioning from a broken kid to a man, I sought solace in new experiences, pushing boundaries wherever I could. Today, I don't hold my parents responsible for the environment at home, nor do I fault my mother's marital choices. Both my sister and I were deeply affected, but my role as the son seemed to invite more physical discipline from my father.


Post-military service, I was a young man bursting with aspirations. My time as a commando instilled discipline, making me resilient both physically and emotionally. Eager to break away from my home environment and stepfather, I juggled jobs at the studio, relying financially on my grandfather. Our relationship was complex. Numerous times I asked him for financial help to set up my own venture, but he saw me as the family's black sheep, forever skeptical of my abilities.


One particularly bleak memory stands out – my first suicide attempt following a heated argument with my grandfather. Despair drove me to lay in a dimly lit street, yearning for a car to end my pain. Fate had other plans when a car stopped just in time, and the driver and I forged an unexpected friendship that lasts to this day.


Family dynamics were curious. A young man, once deemed untrustworthy, suddenly gained stature if he expressed a desire to marry. Marriage, in their eyes, equaled responsibility, even warranting financial backing.


Up till then, my grasp on relationships was shaky at best. My father introduced me to intimacy in a brothel, and with the low self-worth rooted in my childhood, genuine relationships were challenging. However, a surprise kiss from a girl I'd met just days earlier shifted everything.


Her boldness captivated me, and soon all I wanted was to be with her — my sanctuary. Marrying her felt like a dream, with the added benefit of receiving assets to jumpstart my career. Life seemed almost perfect. But unfamiliar with prolonged happiness, something within yearned for chaos. I sabotaged the love I had, and the subsequent guilt consumed me.


To be continued...


cigaret and ashtray

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