My mother has the habit of accusing me of thinking that I’m Barbie. Yes, I get my nails done all the time. I have flowers painted on my big toes. I feel the need to be bleach blonde with long flowing extensions. I shop too much and have the constant need to feel as cute as possible. I’ve also been known to tan too much. For her the kicker was last summer when I decided that I should be a pin up model.
I started all this when I was manic. I did indeed feel like I was a rock star/super model/goddess/Barbie wannabe. Mania makes you feel incredible. On the very top of your game. You can be anything you want to be and you think everyone will believe this right along with you. Well, it actually kind of works, but mostly with strangers.
But I am not your mother’s barbie doll. Doing all this became a kind of obsession. If I didn’t feel beautiful and sexy, then I wasn’t in control. I had lost control of so much that these things were the only power I had. I was so sick. And no one realized it. They literally thought that I just wanted to play dress-up and be Barbie. Mania has some wacky symptoms sometimes. It seems like I’m being shallow to most people, but it’s really just a sign that I was suffering from a horrible manic episode.
Now, it’s how I hang on to those good feelings. It’s how I remind myself to fight the depression. If I am physically taking care of myself, I feel like I have the power to hold on to just enough of the mania to keep getting by. Yet, it also acts as a constant reminder of what I went through. I have been either hypomanic or manic for almost a year now. That’s the longest episode I’ve ever had. I’m not sure why it’s been so hard to regulate. I think maybe part of it is that I don’t want to let it go.
I know I don’t want to let it go. The reason is because I forgot what it’s like to just be normal. I’m convinced that if I let go of all my manic impulses then I’ll just become depressed and miserable forever. I don’t know how to find a happy medium.
There are things I should let go. Things I should do more of. Minor as well as drastic changes that I should make. But I’m scared and I don’t know any other way to cope. So if being Barbie makes me feel safe, then so be it. Sorry Mom, I know you wanted more for me. But if you look deep inside you’ll see who I really am and that sure as hell aint’ Barbie.