Inside of me is a puzzle piece. It�s the last one you need to complete the puzzle, but I can�t let you have it. I can�t let you have it until I am sure I can trust you with it. It�s the fortune inside the cookie, the pearl inside the oyster. This piece has great value, it can only be given to those that can be trusted to respect it, to appreciate it�s quiet beauty. It�s not the prettiest piece of the puzzle, the pearl of great price, it�s beauty is often mistaken until you hold it, until you know it, until you have been allowed to see it.
I�m not so special, so enigmatic. I�m just me. But I do keep a secret trapped inside of me. I have already shared it with you. For whatever reason, I am more comfortable trusting a bunch of strangers with my secrets than those people in my life.
Having a mental illness is different than having a physical illness. Though, in fact, most mental illnesses are physical in origin, they have a whole different connotation. It is as if it is your fault. People make a lot of assumptions about you based on the diagnosis. There is judgement and shame.
Because of this, it�s not something you can always share with everyone you know. It�s not a badge you can wear on your suspenders or a slogan for a t-shirt. It�s something that is so often misunderstood and seen as a character defect. People see you as incapable, untrustworthy. Where other people are just accepted, we have to earn our acceptance. We have something to prove all the time. Like a convict released from prison must prove that he�s been rehabilitated, those of us with mental illness must prove that we are capable. There is no room for a slip-up, no forgiveness among the judges who watch our every move.
So the illness becomes that puzzle piece, the fortune hidden in the cookie, the pearl in the oyster. It�s the secret that defines us, that completes the puzzle, yet we cannot just open our palm and reveal it to anyone. Because they might not understand. Because they might not accept us. Because they might use it against us.
Upon meeting someone, having someone new in my life, it may take years before I reveal my secret. Especially if they are people I know through work. This is the place where it seems most dangerous to let this secret out. So in the midst of the worst depressions, I have learned to put a suit of sanity on. I have learned to play the role. I can fake happy with the best of them. I am what they refer to as �high functioning� because I can hold down a job, I can outwardly manage my mood swings most of the time, I can function in day to day society. My outer appearance and behavior may appear normal, but toil and trouble lurks within me. I am a boiling cauldron of erratic thoughts and emotions.
Generally, when I tell people I am bi-polar, they are surprised. Some have thought I was joking. I�ve gotten so good at hiding it, so good at playing a different role, that it seems unthinkable to some. They just don�t see me that way. I am grateful for that. I need to have people in my life that see me as normal but still accept me as I am. They let me know that it�s okay, that my struggle for normalcy and acceptance is not in vain.
But at times, I have not been careful enough with this truth about me. And I have revealed it to people that I thought I could trust. Only to find it used against me. Something to whisper to someone else� a �heydidjaknow� that people can laugh about over a beer. What�s worse is when it becomes an excuse for someone, when someone uses it to tell me why I�m not good enough. And then I feel the hopelessness of it all. Why fight it, why try to be normal if I can�t even find acceptance among those I love.
This entry started with a clear path. I had something I wanted to say, something I needed to get out. And now I�ve advanced this far into it and the words have left me. I don�t know how to wrap it all up. I can�t tie it up with a bow, stick a tag under and call it a gift.
So, um, that�s all I�ve got.
