My Story: Black, Beautiful, And Living With Bipolar Disease

“I’m not crazy.” “I am NOT crazy.” “I’m not crazy, I think.” “Maybe I am crazy.” I have said all of these words and maybe more to avoid accepting the fact that at the age of 24, I was diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder. At that time I was recently married, the mother of young sons, a recent college graduate looking to go into law school as well as a small business owner. That meant I couldn’t be crazy because in the Black community, being mentally ill automatically gets you blacklisted. I can’t believe that I made it 35 years without a single incident with the police that could possibly affect me for the rest of my life. But there I was, on my mother’s birthday, sitting in jail for an alcohol-induced physical altercation with my boyfriend. I knew I crossed the line and had allowed my mood swings to get the best of me. I ruined the romantic weekend that he planned for us by harping on something that happened almost a year ago. I was in a tailspin because of the stressful weekend that I had dealing with both my sons and my business (emotions were high, finances...