Once, eons ago it seems, my feelings were so extreme that they ripped through my body reducing me to a quivering mass of flesh, bones and blood, helpless to defend myself or even to care. I didn't understand why my reactions were so fierce for nearly a quarter of a century, but I always knew I was different from everyone else. My classmates constantly taunted me knowing they would get some outlandish reply, tears or some sort of emotional display that would fuel their teasing and gossip even more. I'll never forget in the 4th grade being labeled as "weird "by one girl, because it stuck with me through high school. I finally shed that brand sometime around the age of eighteen; two years after my first suicide attempt. By this time, I had absorbed some basic knowledge about "normal" human behavior so that I would cry only in private and would hold my tongue just enough to be considered merely obnoxious. Obnoxious is, of course, much more acceptable than weird. Although I no longer wore my "scarlet W," my emotions continued to spin out of control within the confines of my mind.

Anger is my most problematic and complex feeling. I have struggled with it since I was a small child of five or six. Growing up I was not permitted to have tantrums or to back talk my elders in any way, shape or form. In other words, if I disagreed with something, I didn't have an outlet so it stayed pent up inside of me. The anger then turned into a bubbling, churning, invisible bomb that would eventually explode, splattering its nastiness on anyone in its path. Then, I would regroup and spend the next few days apologizing to everyone who had unwittingly been in the way. As an adult, I realized that part of my anger was merely a defense mechanism. Sometimes my anger manifests itself inappropriately as meanness and is often directed towards people I don't even know. Considering how my peers treated me, I learned early on that if I were mean to them first then they would become afraid and pick on me less. Not a healthy coping skill by any standard, but it worked, or so I thought.

Unfortunately, even today, I experience the repercussions from that reputation. Apparently its even recognizable to people I've just met. My boss continually reminds me not to act malevolently towards my co-workers. Of course, sometimes I disguise my cruelty as sarcasm; other times my sarcasm is just my unique perspective of the world and it's infinitely hilarious scenarios. Regrettably, most people cannot distinguish between the two. Over the past ten years I have slowly learned to express my anger properly, although, I cannot count on it 100% of the time. Since I began talking bipolar medications, much of my indiscriminate and misdirected anger has subsided, so the illness is certainly takes a good portion of the blame. The rest of the problem is still, as they say, a work in progress.

Although I can't tell you about the first time my heart was broken, or the second, or the third, I can, however, vividly recall the raw pain every time I see a movie that accurately portrays those feelings that normally elude me. Amazingly, movies, theater and music can ignite the still waters that flow beneath my Lithium induced faade. I am quite astounded by the talent that actors and musicians have to whisk me into a fictional realm that seems so realistic that I react with the same intensity as if I was experiencing it first hand. Possibly my reaction to these dramas is a defense mechanism that protects my unequipped mind from my true emotions. Perhaps it is just another facet of my personality. Maybe it's a byproduct of my own unique bipolar disorder. Who knows? I do know that without Lithium, my emotions plague my inner child with either the "self-destruct" mode or in the "I'm perfect" mode. No regularity, no in between and no emergency shut off switch.

For every yin there is a yang and emotions are no exception. As profoundly as I revive my pain and sorrow, I'm equally as capable of breaking into hysterics in situations that are not humorous to anyone else. The first time I can clearly recall such a reaction was in the 7th grade. One of my four good friends had just revealed to us that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. This is definitely not a funny situation, yet my immediate reaction was laughter. I was, of course, chastised for my lack of compassion and spit out a hasty apology, but inside I was still amused. I have never figured out why, although I still analyze that moment from time to time. Many conclusions could be drawn as to why I reacted with laughter. It could have been my young age and lack of knowledge about cancer. It could have been a defense mechanism that I had for dealing with unpleasant situations. It could have been another byproduct of the bipolar monster. Again, I would attribute medications to preventing similar responses in equally serious circumstances today.

Like many people who suffer with bipolar disorder, I can also become paranoid and overreact if I am unstable. For instance, if people happen to coincidentally stop talking just as I happen by, I immediately conclude that they were saying something hateful about me. If a guy I'm dating is more than a few minutes late, then he is either cheating on me or has been in a fatal accident. If my mom forgets to call me, then she doesn't love me anymore. If I get called into my boss' office, then I have committed some unspeakable faux pas and am going to be fired, or at least demoted. If too many cars cut me off or seem to come close to colliding with me, then people are "out to get me." If someone doesn't smile and say good morning, then they hate me. Again, some of these examples are related to self-esteem and mine has improved tremendously with education and therapy. But, I have been actively seeking to improve my self-esteem for more than half my life and only in the last ten years, since going on medication, have I seen any noticeable results. People around me have also commented on my metamorphosis.

Whatever the situation at hand, it is not unusual for me to overreact or act inappropriately. I know that some of the problem is just my own particular and peculiar personality. I have a dry sense of humor and find amusement everywhere I look. I am also very compassionate and tend to take on other's problems as my own. I'm also a vessel overflowing with anger that, when unleashed, is quite similar to Mother Nature in all her fury. But, I cannot ignore the influence that family and friends and society have also had on shaping my persona.

These reasons aside, I feel the majority of these problems can be attributed to my bipolar disorder simply because the use of psychiatric medications have alleviated most of the unpredictable and outlandish thoughts and conquered my emotional squalls. Not only can others see a difference, I can feel the difference and I can even track it with a mood chart! A mood chart, by the way, is a terrific tool that enables you to gain a new perspective on your emotions, assists your psychiatrist in prescribing and adjusting your medications and allows your therapist to identify areas that require further exploration. Whatever way you chose to view emotions, the only definite answer I have is they are so intricately woven from different pieces of life that it is impossible to draw a clear picture of origination. For the future of my emotions, I have crayon in hand and fully plan on coloring a happy and well-adjusted picture!