You don’t know me. At all.

Sometimes, no, lots of times, with Bipolar Disorder, when you are in the lows, you don’t care about anything. Literally. Your world can crumble around you, and you will barely notice, and not care enough to try to save it if you do.

When you’re in a high place, you’re on top of the world, and no one can tell you otherwise. Everything is sharper, more fun, intense, wonderful, horrible, everything.

In either case, you make decisions, say things, or do things that you probably wouldn’t in your right mind, and when you stabilize a bit, you may regret some of those things. Then again, sometimes, those impulsive decisions and words are exactly what you’ve needed for a long time, and are too repressed when you’re in that ‘normal’ mindset to say or do, simply because you don’t want to rock the boat, or hurt anyone any more than you have already by your emotional instability. You push down the things they say that hurt you when you need understanding, and how they put your actions down as being lazy or crazy until, one day, something that seems so small to them, is epic to you, and it’s the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back and you explode. I have made many mistakes in those moments, and the ones that truly matter to me, stick around, and wait it out. I know they love me, and, unfortunately, sometimes, I may be to comfortable in that love, and be a bit rougher on them. Again, thankfully, they love me and know that I am loyal, and fierce, and, just as intense as I can be over something I feel for myself, I am just as fierce, if not more so, in defending those that I love. It’s a trade-off, and, thankfully, over the years, these highs and lows are shorter, albeit no less intense, so are easier on relationships.

I am grateful that I have reached an acceptance of my condition, and a maturity in myself and life to be able to still handle those situations maturely, and with grace and dignity. If you choose to blow off what I say, that is on you. For me, I am a full blooded, hard-headed, obstinate child of my parents, both of families full of stubborn Irish, Native American, and German descent, and when I say something, I mean it. When you push me to that breaking point, you will be surprised how explosive I truly am, and not in a good way. Make excuses for me if you like, I don’t need them. I have never needed an excuse for me or my behavior, It is what it is. I have never needed another person to help me in any way. Yes, if you are there, and it helps, I will lean on you, but if you walk away, do you expect me to fall? No, lots of people have walked away when I could really use them, and it has only made me a stronger person. You and your pitiful words cannot and will not break me. I am almost sorry for you that you are weak enough to think that they would.

Dangit, Katy Perry!

¬†Okay, so we’ve all seen the videos of sick kids singing Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’, and everyone has claimed it as their anthem, right? No argument, it’s a great song, and when it first showed up on my news feed, it was on a survivor of Domestic violence’s page, Melissa Dohme, who I greatly admire. I heard it, and, being a survivor myself, was like “Whoah!” and would rock out to it as my own personal anthem. Then I saw the cancer kids singing it, and it was different. These kids are fighting for their lives, and yet telling cancer to kiss it, which I love.

¬†Today, the song hit me like a Mac truck to the heart. My son has been enthusiastically singing it when he hears it, which I thought was adorable. Today, as we were both singing it, I realized how much this song really pertains to him. He has Autism, which sets him up to be the ‘weird kid’ and has caused some comments to be made that he isn’t even aware of, but piss me off royally. That’s a good reason to her the song differently, right? Yeah, that’s not enough. He also has Becker/Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, and I see him struggle everyday, falling more, getting tired trying to keep up with the other kids, even lifting little 2 pound weights over his head requires both hands. I’ve noticed the backwards lean that is so common in these boys, but shouldn’t be obvious until he’s 8, according to most timelines I’ve found. He just turned 7 last month. He’s in a literal race against time and his body, and there’s nothing I can do, but make him happy. Yes, I probably spoil him and coddle him, but I can’t make myself look into his baby blues, and not see what he’s facing, and be okay with causing him any sadness. Yes, I tell him no sometimes, but not nearly as much as some think I should.

I digress. This is about the song, and how it hit me like a semi today. So, here I am, singing (quite badly, of course) along with Katy Perry, and my little boy is just rocking out, rocking back and forth, and gesturing, and I realized, this is HIS song. Yes, many claim it, but this is HIS song. He may not know the battle he’s up against, but he’s already declaring that he’s gonna fight. He’s gonna give it all he has, and he’s not gonna be afraid. There’s a lot to be said for that kind of blind strength, faith, and determination. Maybe I should take a page from his book. Maybe we all should.