I have begun to realize that the art of story telling does not actually proceed in chronological order. Rather, it starts at where there is enough “casual chaos” to begin to introduce our audience to character’s, introduce a basic plot, and somehow manage to keep your reader entertained.

I am not sure my life can be compared to the acts of a story for the sole fact that I am not sure that my life has anyone who, to put it quite frankly, gives a shit about what I have to say. That is fine by me because I probably don’t give a shit about you either. My story / life is for ME. It is for me to grow and prosper and to find who I am again through my writing; a long lost love of mine.

Flash back four years ago. I was crying uncontrollably for days on end, recently had my appendix out, had a mystery disease ailing me, was in an emotionally abusive relationship, didn’t have many friends, my alcoholic and soon to be schizophrenic mother… you name it. My life was gonna end at a moment’s notice before I could even buy my first pack of cigarettes.

I was seventeen. I sincerely thought that was gonna be the end all, be all, as much as any other seventeen year old would see it. But it wasn’t. I am here to tell you that soon to be eighteen year old me made it through, for better or worse to evolve into twenty two year old me.

One Thursday afternoon before I went to therapy after skipping school all day in order to make money and work at the local grocery store, I was in tears. Now this wasn’t a new sensation, but my therapist dropped a bomb on me, “Dani, I think you’re bipolar.” “…what?” “I don’t think, I know you’re bipolar; the constant crying, the abusive relationship, it runs in the family… the clinical depression meds aren’t working and neither is your diagnosis.”

Although I don’t remember this happening per se, I remember being referred to a DO, a doctor who was supposed to wean you off meds; a hippy doctor. But she wasn’t your normal herbal essence snorting, anti-pharmaceutical hippy I originally imagined. She confirmed my bipolar diagnosis through blood work and found me to be lacking a lot of different vitamins that your brain needs to make itself happy. Yes, she told me to take a bunch of vitamins, which I did. Yes that annoyed me. But she also increased all of the prescription drugs I was on. I went from one rotating anti-depressant because they all seemed to fail to about five different pharmaceuticals and five different vitamins. This thought made me more depressed because how was an eighteen year old going to remember to take 10 pills everyday to get to the point where I wouldn’t cry every damn day?

Shortly after, I left my then boyfriend whom I which told I was cheating on him with my boss at the time and he lost his shit. Not because I cheated on him, but because he still wanted me. He blocked the exit so that I couldn’t leave until I forced my way out the front door. For months, MONTHS I tell you… he would drive drunk to my house and throw rocks at my window trying to get me back until I threatened him and his family that we would involve law enforcement if he didn’t leave me alone.

As I struggled to leave my abusive ex, I began to fall in love with my boss in what was about to be the longest on and off again relationship of my life. Yet, here I am today falling in love with yet another man and have been apart of every unimaginable situation that mankind has to offer when it comes to relationships.

Instead of the serial dating with the various online dating apps, instead of gambling all my money away, instead of drinking and smoking the pain away, I have delved into art. Whether it be my writing, drawing, painting, singing, you name it. My heart soars higher than it ever has before than those filler hobbies and money wasters. Although I am not perfect, God knows I am trying to fix things. Bipolar has by far been the most debilitating, yet rewarding experiences of my life. Without it, I wouldn’t be living as vibrant of a life as I do now, but with it, I am in crippling debt, was raped on a Tinder date, have lost a lot of loved ones, and let the one get away from me.

Although this isn’t the end, it isn’t the true beginning either. But as a reader, you must keep reading to connect the pieces together to try to figure out who the real heroine is and who is the antagonist; where the adventure begins and where the story climaxes and eventually ends.

Til next time,

Dani