Who cares about Bipolar?
A Humorous Message About Being Bipolar 1: Who Gives a Care?
Who gives a care that I’m Bipolar 1?
I mean… I don’t.
I take my meds — which I love. Shoutout to science. I drink water. I stay hydrated like it’s my full-time job. I look inward, I wake up, I rest, I keep a tidy living space. I check my mail, my email, update my site and all my social media at the same time. I communicate with people offline and online. I read, I write, I speak, and I do the exact same things offline that I do online. No split personalities here.
I have this thing where I say “Lord have mercy” — about 14 times a day. It counts as cardio.
I pay my bills. I pay my rent. I live with beautiful women! and take care of my finances. I applied for my dream job, I’m in a Ph.D. program getting A’s. And still… I sleep. Gloriously. On time. Like a person with a bedtime routine and boundaries.
So who cares about mental illness?
I do. Enough to manage it. Enough to take my meds, see my doctor, and keep my life in order. Enough to know that “Bipolar 1” is a diagnosis, not a death sentence. It’s a part of my story — not the whole book.
I’m not my diagnosis. I’m the woman who’s building a life anyway. Meds + water + Jesus + WiFi = unstoppable.
So no, I’m not ashamed. I’m too busy living. Too busy winning. Too busy being the version of me that shows up — online, offline, in Toastmasters, in class, and in line at Human Bean.
Who gives a care?
God does. I do. And that’s enough.
P.S. If you’re navigating Bipolar 1 too, keep your care team close. Meds work best with a good doctor, therapist, and a whole lot of grace. You’ve got this.
