Why being crazy is so lonely, to me

I’m writing this post keeping in mind that I do not know all there is to know about the condition of the government psychiatric facilities in South Africa. I been ‘fortunate’ to be on medical aid. I’ve never been to a facility. You know, a facility. I should have in think back on what i’ve done, where I’ve been, especially in my mind. But this ‘fortune’ of having medical aid does not take from the loneliness from having a mental illness.

It’s isolating.

I’ve told a few of my closest friends, but all they offer is empathy. Of course it’s genuine and I appreciate it. It’s just.

I feel like I’m crazy when I try explain the kind of thoughts I have- the sensitivity I displayed to every change that happened in my life; the fact that I shattered to a million pieces, inside and kept it to myself. I kept the torment inside all these years and felt lonely and scared to share it, to whisper to any ear that would listen. I was so scared of their reactions. I was scared of being put away. I was scared of disgust. I kept it all inside, to keep people close. Some people, who didn’t give a damn about me anyway.

When I tell my husband about the versions of me, the psychosis, my super powers, he doesn’t understand. But he knows.

I want another bipolar to tell me I’m normal.

Am I am not normal now?
Now that I fit.
Fit into type 1?

I read blogs because they account the daily transactions between us and the ghost inside.

I used to think that I would die at the age of 23. I was paranoid for many years that because I saw the digital time 23:23 quite a few times (on a VHS machine), I would die at 23. I became so paranoid that it became a bitterness, and of course I never celebrated my 23rd birthday. (P.S I was not medicated). I’m 28 now. And every year, I live is a surprise to me. After numerous suicide attempts I think it goes with the territory. But, when I look at blogs by older bipolars and fellow mental illness suffers, I know I may not die. It’s inspiring.

That’s profound to me.

I may not always be ok.

But I may not die.

I feel lonely here in South Africa. I want to make a change. I don’t want others to feel this loneliness- the voices won’t ever be able to make up for this kind of loneliness. I urge South africans to be as vocal, as helpful, as genuine, as compassionate as those abroad, like the likes of Kitt O’Malley, Glenn Archibald and Dyane.

(Blogging from my phone so functionality is limited but, here are their blogs:

http://glenn2point0.wordpress.com/

kittomalley.com

http://proudlybipolar.wordpress.com/ )

They’ve inspired me to come out, stay medicated and most importantly be me (which is a whole a lot of awesome things).

I’ll continue to connect, follow and tweet other mental health activists.

When I do die one day, I want my children to remember me, the real me- the fighter, the passionate Yvette… Who happened to have Bipolar 😉

Xxxx