Confessions of a Nice Girl

My name is Riki and I have a secret. Well, it’s sort of a secret and sort of a condition. I guess you could say it’s a conditional secret. Conditional on how you know me. Are you my boss? Yes? Then you don’t know. Are you my lover? Yes? Then you may or may not know. Are you my family? Yes? Then how close we are determines how much you know. Are you my friend? Yes? Then  you ought to know.

 

 

It’s funny, because if this condition were a physical ailment, people would understand. When you break your leg or get cancer, people are sympathetic and helpful. The well-wishes are straightforward and heartfelt. Even if someone has never had your particular ailment, they have a built-in compassion for your predicament. Becaue this condition is mental, there is no straightforward sympathy. There is only doubt and contempt toward something so minsunderstood.

 

 I’m not sure exactly when it all began, but I know that it started slowly and then took up speed and eventually drove me crazy, and then back again. The story I have to tell doesn’t always make sense. I can’t even make sense of it sometimes, so I know it won’t make complete sense to you. It won’t always follow a proper chronological order either. I don’t remember exactly when things happened sometimes. It’s not your typical story of glamour, or of true love, or a great mystery, although I’ve found a little of each of these along the way.

 

It’s funny looking back on it how high things looked for a while and how low they really got. Even knowing what that hell looks like I wouldn’t take my experience back. In some twisted way I needed everything that happened to me. It all had to happen for me to be where I am today. Everything happens for a reason. Fate. Kismet. Whatever.

 

At first I thought I was just moody. Being female makes it so easy to blame yesterday’s bad algebra exam and today’s fight with my boyfriend on PMS. Heck, now they even have an extreme form of PMS called PMDD for those of us who go truly mad during our periods. It’s documented female craziness. Check it out, really. The farther along I got the more I realized that I was not a case of PMS gone mad. There was no way to blame my moods and my behavior on wayward hormones. We had a much bigger problem on our hands.

 

 So I’d like to share the experiences and the moments that have shaped my life so far as a young woman with Bipolar Disorder. I’d also like to take you along on my journey of everyday discovery as I learn to navigate the rise and fall that has become my life. I hope that they entertain someone, educate someone, and uplift someone.

This is a new year, and after twelve years I am ready to share this secret. It is a time for new beginnings and new revelations. It is a time for growth and renewal. It is my time.