When We Collided

by Emery Lord

To the deepest, most cellular level of my being, I resent people who believe that depression is the same as weakness, that “sad” people must be coddled like helpless toddlers.

My dark days made me strong. Or maybe I already was strong, and they made me prove it.

Every once in a while, her temper flashes. It’s like she’s exhausted from beating down her demons.

I’m not saying I hate Jim Bukowski because, you know, I try really hard not to have hatred in my life. It’s just . . . you know that Sunday-night feeling, where the dread of reality sinks in, that you’ve mismanaged your time and now the anxiety of homework and the wasteland of early mornings and school stretches ahead of you? Well, I hope he has that feeling every minute of every day of his entire life. That’s all.

know I’m being horrible—snippy and unyielding. Sometimes I can identify facts in my mind, but I can’t feel them. What I mean is, I know that I am not malnourished and I don’t have aggressive cancer. I sleep in a safe, warm bed at night, and I can eat ice-cream cones whenever I want. Even right this minute, I smell the salty ocean and wet sand in the breeze, which ruffles my hair. Cognitively, I recognize my good fortune. But I don’t feel lucky.

The heart is such a strange little beast—a lump of thick muscle with pipes sticking out. Sometimes I think my heart is made of rubber, and the world stretches it and twists so that it writhes in my chest and aches. This is why I have spent most of my time on this planet here but hurting. Sometimes I think a heart of porcelain would be easier. Let it drop out of my rib cage and break on the floor, no heartbeat, the end. Instead, I get a bouncy heart that bleeds when the world claws at it but keeps beating through the pain.

On the grouchy to blissful spectrum, she spends zero time in the middle. She wallops me with the change in her moods like a one-two punch.

I’d want you to realize that bipolar disorder is just one facet of a multidimensional life. That takes a lot of thought about what you want that life to look like. And, beyond medication and therapy, I would counsel you to accept your diagnosis. That? Comes with time and experience.”

These days, I’ve started to daydream of the permanent relationships I want to have. Friends who stay in my life forever. People who I trust to love me even if I’m wobbling—