Bipolar Genius, How I Kept Your Mental Illness From Becoming My Own.



Whore, Bitch, Bar Whore, Slut, Asshole, Bitch…

That was me for three years. In your eyes, the eyes of a bipolar genius who is so troubled, you couldn’t see how you slowly tore away at my soul. But maybe you saw it as me allowing you to tear away at my soul.

I don’t know.

At first I tried to justify the name-calling, the insults and the anger, by telling myself that you are mentally ill. And just like any sickness, we learn to accept the symptoms and try to help as much as we can until those who are sick get better.

But you will never get better.

You can’t control your emotions, but you also choose not to by hurting your body and continuing to do the things that make you worse. I know this, because I did the same.

Someone once said that we become friends with and end up in relationships with the mirror image of us, but if you look at yourself in the mirror, the image is reversed unlike looking at a photograph of yourself. Which is why pictures of ourselves look distorted, but they are the real thing as opposed to the opposite of ourselves.

I know I am not a whore, bitch, bar whore, slut, asshole or bitch. I know that, so why would it tear at my heart so much? Why would it eat away at my soul and why would it make me feel like I am the smallest piece of matter that ever existed?

I know why.

Because you embodied the nightmares and insecurities that lived in my head. You were the voices in my head that yelled at me and told me I’m not good enough, I’ll never make it, I am a failure, a joke, a whore-bitch-bar whore-slut-asshole-bitch.

Those voices in my head called me that every day, and when you called me that, you made those voices real. I tried to ignore your name-calling, I tried to make excuses for you, and each time I reopened that door to your friendship, those voices came alive again.

When I would walk away, wouldn’t talk to you or let you in my life, the voices would disappear the way you would disappear. When you would come back, the voices would reappear. It’s as if I opened that door for a fleeting moment, thinking things would be different.

Oh, and different they were.

Each time, they got worse. Sometimes I would be afraid for my life and I would wonder why I kept opening that door.

I know why now.

There was a sense of comfort when I could appease those voices by telling them they told the truth. By allowing you to call me those names, I quieted you down. If I agreed to being all that you would call me and say to me, it would all stop.

I learned to compromise my feelings for a fake and unreal sense of comfort. The comfort that came when I would start believing that I was all those things, and once I believed, the voices and you would go away.

But I was left picking up the pieces of the shattered person I had become, and once I mended myself again, I would come back for more.

One day I slapped you. I threatened to slap you if you called me another name in public. “You fucking whore!” you yelled. And I slapped you. And that’s the moment I knew that I was broken far beyond anything I have ever been.

Peace to you — the human voice and the voices in my head. Go your merry way, I shall go mine and never look back.

Since I made the decision to walk away from that abuse, the hatred, the pain and the heartbreak, my life has changed infinitely. It’s like the Universe rejoiced in my decision and granted me unimaginable gifts that I couldn’t have expected. My career took off, my health improved infinitely, and I learned to love myself.

Thank you, my bipolar genius friend. You taught me that I don’t have to put up with every illness out there, especially if it results in my own illness.

I wish you the best and I pray every day that you will find a way to live with this horrendous mental illness that preys on you.



DianaRomeroDiana Romero is a dreamer, filmmaker, writer, romantic and a compassionate artist. She strives to find the love and happiness in every situation, finding the glass half-full rather than half-empty. Her inspirations are her dreams and those working to achieve their dreams. Diana has won awards for her films and her scripts. As a person with Multiple Sclerosis, Diana’s wish is to show everyone that if you love what you do, nothing can stop you from doing it. You can contact her via her website or Twitter.


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