Misfit (noun): someone who doesn’t fit in socially or is unsuited for a particular situation. This is something that I have felt inside my entire life. I was never your run of the mill young kid or teenager. I was athletic, but not quite enough to fit in with the cool kids or make a club sports team. Studying was my strong suit, but I never felt “naturally” smart enough to keep up with students in my honors classes so I worked harder. I was talented in the arts, but not artsy “enough” to really sit with and completely fit in totally with the theatre kids at school. I thoroughly enjoyed watching professional and college sports, but was too afraid to share my knowledge with the boys in high school, for I wanted to “fit in as a girl” as well. Whatever that meant at the time. There were several people I was friends with, but I never had a core group to fit, just your typical floater. I spent a lot of time searching for my purpose and self discovery, desperately trying to find my identity. But little did I know, my senior year would be my ultimate test.
I remember being 18 years old and hearing the word “bipolar” for the first time. I had no idea what it was, only that it was simply a diagnostic answer for what had been happening to me. It was senior year of high school. I had been an A student up until that point. Suddenly I had the attention span of a gnat and the energy level of someone on speed. I was up until 5am regularly with no consequence, other than my weight dropping rapidly. At the time, I just thought I had severe ADHD and insomnia. However, once I got my evaluation done I was diagnosed as manic. This I had even less of an idea of the word. In my head, it was a scientific answer to what was wrong with me and an answer of what I needed to do next. I was completely unbothered. To me, it was like getting diagnosed with diabetes or krohn’s disease. I never once saw myself as different. The only thing that changed was having to take certain medications twice a day. Little did I know, society had a very different idea. Stigma was going to (attempt) to be my kryptonite and impacted my life for years to come.
It was 2011 and rarely did one ever see mental health advocacy posters. There were never suicide prevention posters at school and absolutely nobody talked about mental illness. In fact, it was swept under the rug and discussion was completely discouraged. I had just gotten back from a two week medical leave and people were giving me strange looks at school. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. It turned out that someone (who I still haven’t figured out) started a rumor that I had attempted suicide and there were weapons in my locker. It was all over the school. My stomach completely sank. I never had social drama at school, let alone have such a disgusting and insensitive rumor go around. I thought to myself, “How do I convince 1,000 kids I didn’t do it and I’m fine?”. It was a tough circumstance, I didn’t know how to defend myself. I was never suicidal and I could never touch a weapon in my lifetime. I wanted people to know the truth, but I wanted to clear the air without offending or damaging those who had tried to take their life. I knew people with depression and suicidal ideations were just like anyone else and I didn’t want to stigmatize them. So I naively said, “No that’s not true. I was manic. I simply couldn’t pay attention and couldn’t sleep. The doctors just had to monitor me on medication in the hospital.” Most people responded well, however there were the few that took the truth and spun it into a sensationalized phenomenon. On top of that, the school called me into an office telling me “If you tell people you’re bipolar they’ll think you’re crazy.” I was phenomenally embarrassed. With the intention to calm the waters, I had accidentally started a fire. Ironically just as I was starting to feel like I finally fit in, this happened. I went from the straight A class clown floater to the crazy girl. To my own horror, I was now more of a misfit than I could ever imagine. All at my own doing. I thought I was still just a normal girl, but the world wasn’t ready to see that yet. All of a sudden I was on the outside, but I knew in my heart of hearts I wanted to take my experience and make a difference. I am one stubborn mother f****er and this was never going to be my identity. And by God I would never let this disorder win. I was going to convince the world that mental illness needed to be discussed and “bipolar people” are just normal people on medication.
Luckily in the last fourteen years I have been in mental health advocacy groups that have allowed me to share my story and plan events that involve destigmatization of mental illness. Discussing different disorders, symptoms and medications with others has allowed these circumstances to be normalized in society. Meeting other people with the same mission has helped magnify that Bipolar people like me are just like anyone else. And more importantly, most people want to join in on these tough conversations that make a difference. I also have had a wonderful medical team that have gotten me the proper medication and care to stay in remission. It has helped with my self confidence and helped put my fears at bay.
While most of the time I still see myself as the “same old Janie,” the negative responses and rumors I faced as a teenager left deep scars and caused insecurities in my social life. An extrovert with introverted social anxiety as I like to describe it. Throughout the years, it has taken a long time to shake all of the fear and anxiety off. But internally, sometimes I still feel like that misfit kid. Luckily through therapy I have been able to get the confidence to put myself out there and expose myself to new situations. However, my anxiety comes and goes. Some days I’ll be back to the “original Janie” and some days I’ll feel completely nervous to be in certain settings. It is at times a day by day process.
I can also be very standoffish at first. Not with any malintent, but because my trauma causes me to be nervous to meet new people sometimes. Every time I meet new people I’m so excited, but in the back of my mind I’m terrified about being rejected as a friend because of my diagnosis. Most people are accepting but sometimes I take a little time to warm up to people due to my fears. Its even worse with dating. Sometimes I think, “Why would this person ever want to be friends with a misfit like me?”
Ever since I was 18, I’ve had a hard time giving any guy a real chance. The amount of times I’ve deleted and redownloaded Hinge is embarrassing. I don’t want stigma and my trauma of feeling like a misfit to cause them to leave because I have to take a certain medication to function. The last thing I want is to be a romantic burden to someone in case things get bad again. I don’t want them to constantly have to worry. Sometimes I can come off as disinterested but in all reality, because of my history, I take a longer time than most girls to open up and be comfortable with a romantic partner. Luckily, I’ve had people be supportive of my past and more importantly my mental health advocacy work. My hopes have gotten better and I have stopped writing off the idea of finding my person some day.
Ever since my traumatic experience my senior year of high school, I’ve made it my job to be outspoken and fight for other people but also to be cautious. To be open to other people and be friends with all kinds, but to acknowledge that trust and respect are earned. It has caused me to be incredibly sensitive and empathetic toward other people. When I meet people, I am fascinated my their personal history and their stories. I want to know their interests and what makes them “them.” It has taught me intentional listening and the “why?” behind each conversation. Its our differences and deep conversations that can help us learn so much from others. Because of what I’ve gone through, I make a point to text my friends out of the blue to see how they’re doing. Even if its been one to two years. I want to know that they are okay, but also keeping those connections going. When I text or speak to someone and I say “How are you?,” I’m not trying to make small talk. I want to know how you’re really doing. If you’re struggling, I want to know how I can help. I want to know exactly what you need, so you get the support I didn’t get my senior year of high school.
As mentioned earlier, when I was in high school, the last thing I wanted was another reason to stand out. That this disorder gave me another reason to be on the outside. That for once, I didn’t want to be a misfit. However, as the years have gone on and through therapy I have realized something. I don’t fit the mold, because I was never meant to. And maybe, just maybe it is my super power. Because I relate to being on the outside, I thrive on connecting with people. It makes me able to see beyond the surface and understand life’s purpose. Maybe, just maybe, this diagnosis has been my biggest blessing. And for that I am eternally grateful.