Manic Me

Posted: July 31, 2012 in Bipolar
Tags: , , ,

I was properly diagnosed as having manic depression (i.e. bipolar), very late in life.  When I described my teenage years, my psychiatrist said that was when it manifested.  I should have been put on mood stabilizers, antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication at 13.  Instead, I suffered.

Even in Mexico, I was prone to mood swings.  I had triggers everywhere. I actually felt terrific when I was manic.  I felt everything in a heightened, euphoric state.  I was my own drug.

It was the crash from euphoria that cursed me with a racing mind, nonstop tears and ultimately, suicidal thoughts. My bipolar monster stalked me everywhere.

So, when I arrived to Pasadena, I was a ticking time bomb.  I already resented being there, at least initially.  My siblings, I surmised, were beneath me.  I was better than them because of my Mexican transformation.

When Esteban and I had our expected fight, I fought back and ignored the bruises.  I loudly complained to my mother and threaten to report him to the police.

He was given an ultimatum.  No more fights or he’s out of the house.  At 17, Esteban opted for living with his girlfriend. He got a job and graduated high school.

Due to financial reasons, my mother decided to move  to Rosemead, California.  She still wanted me and Carmen to go to Pasadena schools.  So, she used a friend’s Pasadena address to register us.

At 15, I was a freshman in high school.  I was held back a year in the first grade, because I was bullied and wouldn’t fight back.  That scenario wasn’t going to play out this time. If anyone tried to hurt me, I was going to hurt them three-fold.  Even the occasional innocent party got hurt.

I had lots of boyfriends.  My first one was a 6 foot, gawky, junior varsity football player.  He had blonde hair, blue eyes and a coveted jersey.  Back then, every girl wanted a football jersey to display.  Once football season was over, my interest in the goofy giant was over too.  He was crushed and I was free.

I flirted like crazy with all the cute guys white, black and yes, even asian. None were freshmen.  I was too good for freshmen. Boyfriends came and went in no particular pattern.

Then two guys, both black, changed the nature of the game.  Tony, was insanely in love with me.  We were off and on, depending on which way the wind was blowing. If we were off, it was because of me. On, because I enjoyed his begging.

I, on the other hand, was in love with an ROTC uniform wearing, studly, Afro-American god named Steven.  This coveted god already had his goddess.  She was biracial, also in ROTC, tough and vicious.

Steven and I messed around in secret for months.  I finally got tired of Tony and told him we were done for good because I loved Steven and never loved him. With a heartbreaking look in his eyes, he handed me a gold necklace with a heart pendant, with the inscription ‘for my lady’ on it.

Congratulations, Monica! You’re a certified heartless bitch! I tried to give back the necklace, but he wouldn’t take it. He never bothered me again. Even though I wanted the break-up, I plummet into a depression that was horrendous.

Now I needed Steven to make me happy or more to the point, make me manic. Everything was better when I was manic.  I was wild, crazy, funny and hot.  I just needed a springboard. Steven, my springboard, wasn’t always around.

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