I feel a lot of pressure. Pressure to take my meds and stay on them. Pressure to be a good son, brother, and uncle. Pressure to be a man. Pressure to conform and lead a healthy, happy life. It’s tough, but I’ve learned to maintain composure and grace among the people in my life, i.e. the normies, people who are not bipolar or mentally ill.
“Look, he’s bipolar and he’s not a nervous wreck,” I think, as if observing myself from the headspace of those around me. “Check it out, he’s bipolar and he doesn’t drink or do drugs.” “See, he doesn’t cry.”