When I was 17 I broke up with my first boyfriend. Mind you, I was 17 and we dated for two years before I ended things. My mother said I was brave and strong because there was a five year difference be- tween us and he was after all my first boyfriend. Looking back on that time of my life I remember it being very chaotic but holding it all within myself. At that time I was taking new medication, getting ready to graduate and head off to college and begin my new life as an adult. In reality I was still a baby, a little girl who had no idea the cards life was about to deal her. I was unaware of the heartbreak, the insurmountable joy and unaware of all the beautiful people I was about to meet. One of those people being my- self. I was about to meet numerous versions of myself in the years to follow that summer I broke my high school boyfriend’s heart.
I used to have such rigid views regarding the human condition. Things only being black and white while I was the exception to being the “gray area.” That’s why I think the universe or God or whatever you believe in, played a joke on me or tried to teach me a lesson when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. Feeling like all my questions had been answered was a great feeling, but with it came so many more questions. I questioned my sanity, if things were really how I perceived them. I constantly was challenging my family and friends’ loyalty. My biggest wonder was exactly who was in control. Was it stable me? Was it medicated me? Was it manic me? Was it depressed me? Who was the real Kailyn? If we’re being honest, to this day my answer will change depending on the state I’m in but I will also say that all of these versions of me make up me. They are all in control.
My diagnosis has made me mean, it has helped my creativity. It has cost me people in my life and it almost cost me my actual life on a few occasions. Yet, I feel like my condition is my friend, but it’s that friend that is a bad influence and gets you in trouble with your parents, or even the law. It’s that devious friend, that friend that only you can talk poorly about and everyone else is con- demned from saying anything at all. I’ve learned empathy from Bi- polar. I’ve learned that they weren’t lying when they say the mind is the most powerful weapon. I’ve also learned that I’m made up of contradictions and that my tongue and my fists are the most dam- aging ammunition. I’ve met my demons and turned them into friends but what I’ve really learned is simple: I’ve learned how to fight.
This condition is severe, there’s no doubt about that. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen or done. I’ve abused alcohol, drugs and I’ve abused myself and those closest to me. I believe everything happens for a reason and that has to in- clude living with this narcissistic illness right? I can’t be choosy and decide that my life mantra has rules and exceptions. Was I born with this to be a better creative? To be a more empathetic sister and daughter? Or was it so that a future child of mine who may have it worse than I did can have a mother to guide them? Who’s to say? One thing I do know is that this disease is a fickle friend. One minute I’m being led to euphoria and the next thing I know, I’m headed for the psych ward. I said that it’s taught me to fight. Fight for my life, for my happiness and for my loved ones. It’s a fight that I’ve won every time so far even if it doesn’t look like it. I fight because there’s no other option, no other choice. It’s all I’ve got is this life and I hope when I’m the other “version” of myself I can reflect back on this to remind myself of this fight.
