My mother told me tonight that she doesn’t think I have bipolar.

Three words.

What.

The.

Fuck?!

Just because you can’t physically see that someone is hurting doesn’t mean that they’re not. This saying could go true for just about anyone and I am so hurt. My oldest sister had a freak accident (I have yet to really talk about this and probably will hold off for as long as I possibly can) on my 30th birthday last year and everyone is coming to terms that her life is forever changed. It’s apparent (because it’s physical) that she is handicapped. For someone like me, with a mental illness, if you haven’t suffered in a similar way, everyone expects for you to heal because they can’t see it. So if I am smiling or have a good day, a good month, or a good year, I am fine. But that’s not true. Very far from it, in fact.

Denial.

To know that the person who loves me most in my life honestly believes that I am completely fine and don’t suffer pains me. How can my mother believe this to be true? She has known about most of my psych ward visits and all of the depression I have suffered, because I tell her. But because she can’t feel it or see it, it doesn’t exist. Not to her. She honestly thinks that because I live a somewhat normal life (granted, she lives over 200 miles away from me), I must be fine.

If someone like my mother believes I am okay, I wonder what most people think who know that I suffer. Probably most. They probably just feel as though I am emotionally high maintenance or that I am a complainer. I’m pretty exhausted at the moment and slightly on a high because for having a day where almost everything went wrong, something went very right towards the end…

I’ll continue this again at some point. There’s much more to be told. For now, I will accept the fact that my mother will never fully understand me. Three more words.

Fuck.

My.

Life.