By Jordan O’Halloran

Since I was young, being bipolar was a sense of shame for me. Even the word bipolar made me have shivers down to my toes. Having bipolar was something I didn’t have. That was the crazy side of the family. Not me. I was wrong. So wrong.

My first experience with learning about the disorder was my dad explaining to me about my grandfather. My grandfather was a doctor, but an alcoholic. A great father one day and waiting with a shotgun the next. In every sense of the word, he was crazy. Intelligent as hell, but crazy. I read books like crazy, created stories, and knew I wanted to go to college, but I was different. However, my emotions decided to start speaking for themselves. I was sad all the time.

The sadness got the worst when my best friend moved away to England. My heart was broken. What was I supposed to do when my best friend was more than 5,000 miles away? My parents began to notice that I was losing motivation for everything. I didn’t shower. I cried over everything. Until one day, they took me to the therapy. My therapist had the color of grape Kool-Aid and she wanted to talk about what was bothering me. We played Chutes and Ladders since I didn’t know what to say. She told my parents I was bipolar and that I needed to be on medication. They didn’t listen.

I got into college and was so excited. I was going to be able to make my own choices, learn about news that wasn’t Bill O’Reilly, and was going to learn how to be a teacher. For the social aspect, I knew I wasn’t going to drink because in my mind, that meant that I’d become an alcoholic since it runs in my family. I decided that drugs were a better way to fit in. My introduction to raves had begun.

I tried molly and ecstasy. I loved both of them. They made colors glow brighter, I felt a sense of joy in my bones, and music felt like heaven. My friend and girlfriend at the time decided that we were going to a rave. The first I went to was amazing. I longed for more. I wanted strangers' smiles and bass music to be with me every weekend. That was until we decided to go to the biggest rave I ever experienced. Electric Daisy Carnival in Las Vegas.

Electric Daisy Carnival started off great. The music was perfect. The people were beautiful. Until, I took ecstasy and started noticing people’s eyes, the dark symbols, and began spiraling. I woke up the next day to not knowing what my name was, who anyone was, and what was going on. I knew something was wrong, but I was trapped in my own body.

A neighbor found me on the road of my house on a walk. A paramedic took me to the hospital only to find that there was nothing wrong with me. I was transferred to a mental hospital and was there for 2 weeks before I remembered who I was. I don’t remember anything from those 2 weeks. I do remember not wanting to shower and to have a normal meal. The psychiatrist in the hospital diagnosed me as bipolar. I finally accepted it and started taking my medication.

Now, 10 years later, I feel the best I ever have. I got my college degree, take my meds every day, am completely sober, and am in a healthy relationship. I never thought I’d be at this point. My mania has helped me write books and my depression is a reminder to relax. Without bipolar, I wouldn’t be me. Someone to be proud of.

Jordan O'Halloran lives in Kelseyville, California with her partner and cat, Fuzzykins. To date, Jordan has written 2 YA novels and has dreams of being a full time novelist. When not writing, you can find her daydreaming about the ocean, making candles, and eating cheese. To follow her writing journey, you can find her on Instagram as @jordanjotsjoy