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A Bipolar Black Girl — First Entry

I found out I’m bipolar three months ago.

Even typing that still feels… new.

Not shocking, a bit confusing, embarrassing—just new. Like something I’m still trying to understand while also living my regular life at the same time.

Because nothing pauses when you get diagnosed.

You still have to go to work.  Which I don’t.

Still have bills.  That are unpaid.

Still have responsibilities.  That don’t stop!

But now, there’s this extra layer of awareness. Yay me.

For me, it’s been a a whirlwind. Some times I feel clarity—like “okay, this explains a lot.” And other moments feel like… now what?

I think the hardest part hasn’t been the diagnosis itself. It’s been realizing how much I didn’t understand before.

There were times I thought I was just being inconsistent.  

Or lazy.  

Or doing too much.  

Now I’m looking back at those same moments differently.

And I’m still figuring out what that means.

I haven’t told a lot of people. For a while, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the label, the assumptions, or the way people might look at me differently. From what I’ve read it’s a flag for irresponsibility.

But I also don’t feel embarrassed anymore.

I’m not at a place where I have everything under control. I’m not writing this from some healed, “I figured it out” perspective.

I’m writing this from right here.

Three months in.

Learning my patterns.  

Paying attention to my mind.  

Trying to understand what’s me and what’s… something else.

So this isn’t going to be a perfect series.

This is just going to be honest.

What it feels like.  

What I notice.  

What I struggle with.  

What I learn.

In real time.

This is the start of  A Bipolar Black Girl.

And I don’t fully know what that means yet.

But I’m not hiding it anymore.