The Storms have names

A cheerful woman in glasses and a cozy sweatshirt smiles warmly, exuding a sense of comfort and happiness.

The other day, I went to my local dispensary, and while speaking with the attendant, they asked how I was doing since I just started working again. They asked if leave was helpful at all. I said it was beneficial. I finally got the official diagnosis. I am bipolar.

She paused, kind of shocked, and then said, “Congratulations, you’re extra spicy.” Sometimes I wonder if I am bipolar. We started discussing the different types, the medications I am on to help, and how they are doing. I told her that the meds I came to her for are still my favorite. She winked and said, “Aren’t they all our favorites?” I laughed.

But to be honest, I am still adjusting. I got the diagnosis, but there is still more work to be done. It takes time, and there are steps to take. Being treated for bipolar II can sometimes feel like being treated like glass when you tell people. They don't fully understand that you are still you. You are not fragile. You are not suddenly unrecognizable.

Yes, there are things that can trigger me, but there are also things that ground me. There are routines, medication, therapy, honesty, rest, and learning myself in a new way. There is strength in naming what has been unnamed for so long. There is relief in realizing some storms had names all along.

A diagnosis is not the end of who you are. It is not a warning label. It is not something to whisper about. Sometimes, it is simply a flashlight. It helps you see the path more clearly, even if you still have to walk it yourself.

So no, I am not made of glass. I am made of the same things I always was—heart, humor, softness, resilience, and a little extra spice.

—Destany