Here I am.

My first post. So glad you’re here. “You go Glen Coco” and all that shit, right? Anyways. Should we begin?

Honestly, it’s been a long time coming. I remember being twelve writing in my journal worrying that someone would snoop and read them…that someone being my parents. People reading my thoughts and judging me. That used to be my biggest fear. Look at me now, sharing stuff for the world to see. Pre-teen Madi would be proud. Shit, adult Madi IS proud.

Although this blog may never take off, I feel like there’s no better time than now to have an outlet. In a world of emotional turmoil, writing has always been a safe place for me. Sharing…now that was always the hard part. I remember faking sick to get out of a presentation so I wouldn’t have to share something. Or how I took speech during the summer so I wouldn’t have to share anything personal in front of people I knew. Someone’s writing (at least I believe) is a piece of their soul. So personal. So open. So honest.

I’ve struggled a lot over the years. Those reading this, who know me, know. Growing up I always knew something was wrong. I mean, I remember when my parents divorced. I felt this shift happen within myself. That was the first time I ever felt depressed. Back then, I never really understood what mental illness was. Bipolar disorder? Multiple Personality Disorder? Anxiety? Nope. Never heard of it. I remember seeing stories of people who were mentally ill and thought, “Wow they must be crazy”. This one time I specifically remember saying to my friend “Stuff that happens to you isn’t able to make you go crazy.” Boy was I wrong. A wiser, older, more mature Madison would soon learn that this was not the case.

And then you flash forward to now…twenty-four, a mother, and Bipolar. Being diagnosed was a huge moment for me. After years and years of struggling, I finally had an answer. I could finally get help. I no longer had to wonder what was wrong with me. Was I crazy like those stories I read about when I was little? Was I going to end up in the looney bin? I mean, why am I feeling these things? Why am I searching so hard for an outlet to the point where I am hurting myself? These are questions I wish I would have had the answers to when I was thirteen and learning what the world was like.

Looking back…I am so grateful for my English teachers. English was always my favorite subject. Writing papers? You didn’t have to ask me twice. Especially the papers we got to pick our topics. SHOUT OUT MRS. DICKINSON (if you know you know). I think if life had gone differently I could have done something with writing. The journals on journals I had growing up was honestly just ridiculous. I was always that girl who would write cute letters to her boyfriend…I mean, if you ask Tristan he’d say I am still that girl. I’ve always believed the written (or in this case typed) word means so much more than anything else. It’s tangible. Something you can keep forever.

Thank you for making it this far. I must be doing something right. This whole process just makes me nervous. Honestly, I just really want this to be about everything. From family, life, friends–just everything. I want to put this version of me out there that is just utterly raw. No one has ever seen this side of me. The side that is so open…not silent and letting people walk all over her. I want to show people that they are not alone. Turmoil follows us everywhere. It waits in the shadows and comes out when you least expect it. BUT…No one is alone. There is always someone struggling right along with you. Why not be there for each other? I mean, misery loves company. Right?

2020 was a hard year for me. I’m sure it was for everyone, right? I lost my Pawpaw, a friend (CAMERON I LOVE YOU, WE ALL LOVE YOU), I got kicked out and had to move back into my mom’s, I drank too much, partied too hard, and cried…A LOT. And then I moved back home. Back into a relationship that was broken in so many ways. A relationship that was in dire need of some TLC. Tristan is my best friend. There is no one else in this world I want to build a life with. We’ve been together since we were just kids. We have; quite literally; grown up together. We have come a long way in the seven years since we started dating. I can say that I am proud of where we are now. I love you T. Shout out to you, my guy.

It’s been a year since quarantine started basically, and reliving all the trauma of 2020 has taken a toll on me. And honestly, it’s only just begun. That’s why I am here. Typing my thoughts out at my kitchen table as my kid eats her dinner. I want to get it out. I need to let it ALL out. I want to help myself and hopefully help others along the way. I want to show that you can make it out of hard times, and you can feel better. I’m not sure what is in store for this blog. But one thing I do know is that…your mental illness doesn’t define you, just like mine doesn’t define me. I am a mom. I am a daughter. I am a girlfriend. I am a sister. I am a friend. I live with Bipolar Disorder and I’m gonna be okay.

2 thoughts on “Here I am.

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