After that, I got into very reckless behavior like starting fights (mostly over boyfriends), using drugs and more suicide attempts. I seemed to keep things together enough to win awards and appear to be successful and ambitious. I would sleep for 3 hours and feel completely rested. I could not understand how others had to sleep for 8 hours. At times I thought I was the greatest thing alive and then other times I believed I was worth nothing at all.

I was told I had to get clean before I could be diagnosed, and so I did. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Fourteen years of my life had been chaos, and no one had recognized what I was going through.

Now I have scars on my arms and wrists that remind me of the years that were a blur. Thinking back, I can remember having extreme difficulty sleeping and often staying awake terrified of the simplest things like breaking a piece of chalk in class or worrying about a field trip almost to the point of vomiting. I had many tantrums where I would lose my breath.

I believe the illness I have is genetic and biological, since the suicide attempt happened prior to the drug abuse. Fourteen years later, at 27, I am a single mother of a four year old. I see a therapist once a week and I see a psychiatrist once a month. I am still in a bit of denial about my illness, but I do take my medications regularly. Overall, I am level. I sleep eight hours each night and I nap during the day. The medications I take make me very tired, but at least I can have a conversation without a million thoughts coming and going at once. The panic attacks are gone too. I have put on 25 pounds, which I am ok with. Accepting weight gain for sanity is a good choice.