I was a young girl some called a party girl, a manic lover, a distant friend, an isolated mess.
I was a young girl with a crushing vice of loneliness loosely arranged around my neck growing tighter each passing year.
I was a young girl with promise that she only threw down the drain.
I was a young girl diagnosed with Bipolar.
Labels don’t apply to me anymore. Labels nearly brought life to a standstill, nearly robbed me. Now I am a woman who wants a full life. It means I manage a disease. The disease is not the label here. Call me a writer, call me a friend, but don’t call me Bipolar. It is just the smallest brush stroke on a much more colorful landscape.
But every painting begins with a single stroke.
This is my canvas.