Defined by Bipolar

An introduction to the Bipolar Mind, and who she is…

by a Not-so-Anonymous Means

I feel like I have written and rewritten these words a thousand times. I have imagined these words in countless multitudes, and each time a different version is born. New words, new paths, and new imaginings. A multitude of possibilities, each one possessing a thousand new beginnings, a thousand fresh starts; always and always new words. Each new possibility brings with it the promise of a new beginning, the ideology that anything can shift your life onto another course, to launch you from one chapter to the next. And yet, each version lays unfinished on the tethers of my mind to be forgotten on the winds of tomorrow. Each thought flits away at the end of each night and the morning brings fresh new beginnings; fresh new thoughts, fresh new starts. Always looking forward and always in perpetual motion. There is never a pause in this life; there is never a redo, a take-back or a repeat. There is only forward, an unknown future that holds a thousand possibilities as the sun rises over the horizon. What does she bring in her wake? What will the days hold as life continues to revolve around what we do not know? The thought of new fresh beginnings should be exhilarating and thrilling, for the promises that can be felt on the future winds of tomorrow. But what happens when forward only strikes fear in you. When forward is not where you wish to go? What if the future, grey and unknown as she is, only builds anxiety for fear of the unknown?


Each thought brings me to a new path, a new point in the endless line of moments, each springing life into the next sequential movement. The cannabis that I breathe in slowly and exhale with pure joy, fills me with the creativity and productivity that I need to write this down. To give to you, faceless as you are, this anonymous message built from all the corners of my mind. Like the pieces of a puzzle slowly falling together into understanding. Over the years a blackness has shrouded the pathways of my memories, and the more Indica I take in, the more the blankets are lifted, and the light is shown on the truth. In these moments I can see my life from a different perspective. I can allow reality to shine a light on the false images that my Bipolar Mind has created. For she will always twist reality to her means and make the eyes always doubt what they see, and leave the ears always straining for the truth.

What is reality?

What is the truth?

Who am I ultimately?

Crazy? Or Sane?

Crazy? Or, Sane?

Crazy? Or? Sane?

In my mind there coexists two warring powers struggling for control of the physical. There is me, and there is the Bipolar Mind. The other half of me, the one that I try to keep locked in the deep dark corners of my consciousness. She is the ugly sister that I keep in my closet, the one that I try with all my might to keep hidden from the public, for fear of being shamed. She is the Beast I cannot control, the Demon who haunts me at night, and the Banshee who screams and feeds on the fears of others. She has no care for those around her, and uses her words like the cut of a blade. She makes those closest to her bleed the tears of love, until they are pushed to the limits of their hearts. She makes them doubt their patience, and whether they can endure the malice that she produces. She is the beast I cannot control, and if you have met her, I am sorry for her words and actions. To her loved ones, I hope you continue to endure, for she wears her shackles with strain.

Crazy or Sane?


At the end of each night, and rise of each morning there is always something missing. Some thought that goes unanswered, or some trail unfollowed. Each path is lost due to the shackles on my mind, and the dosages of the medical poison they prescribe. Each of these toxins I put in my body creates a haze over the events of my life, both past, and present. My mind falters at lost images of my past and doubts these events as though they are not my own happenings. These lost moments haunt me each night and always have me thinking, trying to recollect each moment, trying to see them through. As always though, they are lost to the night and the demons that will eventually pull me under.

Sometimes I don’t even know where to begin with the rollercoaster that is my life. Can you imagine living your life at about 160 mph each moment of each day? And that’s cruising speed, my life with caffeine or on drugs is much, much faster, factor in my manic episodes, and time seems to fly by you. It’s exhausting, exhilarating, exciting, and frightening. It’s liberating to the point that you want to throw your hands up and yell into the air; and yet it can be so frightening that enduring with your eyes closed might just be preferable. Sometimes you run straight back to your hidey-hole, and sometimes you ride the rollercoaster with such a ferocity that you feel your heart rip from your chest, somersault into oblivion and land you back on the floor with your two feet firmly planted. Who’s ready to ride again? Because I am!

When life comes at you that fast you thrive on your impulses, and sometimes you don’t get the chance to sit back and think about your decisions. Sometimes you live in the moment and the past doesn’t have time to catch up with you. You race forward, from one moment to the next, not taking a moment to stop, breath, and think. Just think for one moment of the future and its consequences, think of what can happen to you and those around you and think of the consequences of each action and how this might affect you and others. When the Bipolar Mind is in control there are no moments for these thoughts, there’s just a race to the imaginary finish line located at infinite. When she’s in control, she makes the decisions, she makes her moves at lightning speed, and she does what’s best for her at that moment. She is selfish and cruel, and her conniving malice is never-ending. She looks out for her. That is all.


Who picks up those pieces though? Who deals with the consequences that lie in her wake, and the destruction that she has caused. Those who get hurt, either get lost or get over it.  There are no other options. The Beast is in control, and she takes no prisoners. Those with blood ties to the Monster within make their appearances scarce until the demons are under control. Family is forever, no matter what demons you carry. When the damage has been caused, and the Bipolar Mind has retreated to her corner, to lick her wounds, who is it that nurses the wounded, and rebuilds the ties? Family endures beyond the lines of conscious and subconscious. All beasts are linked to another in some way, and this tie is what keeps us humane.

You can say that each individual on this planet is in possession of his or her own kind of crazy, but none can compare to the crazy, which thrives in the dark recesses of my mind. I am no one, and yet I am everywhere, the only difference between you and me? I have no control over the emotions that wrack my body at each moment of the day. My emotions are magnified to the utmost possibility, without literally destroying my soul. Although, I will say that, on occasion, said soul has been lost to the darkness far longer than I would have preferred. And yet, when you flip my coin, I am on top of the world and my power is untouchable and limitless. I am unstoppable and the world is my oyster. But what can you do? The Bipolar Mind does what it wants when it wants.

But who is she? Where does she come from? And why was I cursed to carry her burden on my conscience? She is me, but I am not her. Of that I am certain. I carry her memories and share her mind. She thrives on my emotions, and I thrive on her energy. However, I know for certain I am not the malicious beast that the Bipolar Mind paints me to be. My life is full of bright, glimmering pieces of light. They shine with such exuberance, that you feel blinded by their beauty. I am surrounded by the utmost outstanding people who make nothing but positive influences on those around them. They are the picture of a kind, caring, loving family, who only do good unto those around them. Together we are a family. So who is this demon that lives within the recesses of my mind? Why does she haunt me during the quiet hours of the day? Whispering a tortuous tune into my ear, over my shoulder, always nearby to drag me into her underworld.


This is her message to you. The remembering’s of our collective memory, in both her perspective and mine. This is our story. It can be loud, scary, and insane, but it is ours, and it is begging to be told.


Illustrated by: Alexis Bringas

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