It's the "Ber" months once again and temperatures have dropped to the mid-20s from the mid-30s. My birthday was over and my brother's turning 23 in a few weeks. I've reached that age where you are qualified to complain about quarter-life crisis and use it as an excuse to bum around 'cause you're still figuring out what you truly want.
Career-wise, I still aspire to become a writer. Not to be the best writer (as I think I'm the only one who says I write well) but to be an honest, straight-to-the-point type of writer. I find that only a handful of news reporters and broadcast journalists respect their subjects and stick to their topics of discussion. Most of them beat around the bush. Would you trust a reporter who has a reputation for destroying the dignity of her interviewees? I don't want to be THAT reporter, more so become one of her victims.
Before when I started to keep a journal, I focused on things that happened to me on a daily basis. Rarely will you find me writing a book review or a movie review which I started doing in junior high. I fell in love with blogging that it came to a point where I had no social life because I was constantly in front of the PC, updating my blog. Creating a public blog has been my intention in order for people who are curious about me to know the real score. You can say that having a blog is much similar to writing your autobiography.
Along the way, you may have encountered a situation that you simply lack the resources to solve on your own. My Blogger account before this one was filled with angst-ridden posts which made me decide to shut it down temporarily until I've dealt with my inner demons. The music I listened to changed from Disney songs to heavy metal and alternative. Think Linkin Park, Alien Ant Farm, System of A Down, Fat Boy Slim, Beastie Boys, The Offspring and Limp Bizkit.
I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 15. Hormonal imbalance was the culprit and I blame this disorder for ruining my high-school life. If this wasn't enough, I was constantly bullied by immature, testosterone-heavy boys, who unbeknownst to us, keep condoms inside their wallets. When I could no longer take it and the rage that I felt had been too much that it began to explode, I challenged the boys to a sparring contest. Guess what happened next. All those boys got suspended and were unqualified for admission to the school the following academic year. Me? I got nothing but a reprimand. The teachers made it clear they weren't going to interfere for they saw how patiently I accepted the teasing and ridicule thrown my way.
Ten years after the diagnosis that changed my life, I still take Epival in the morning after brunch yet now I take St. John's Wort before bedtime to help me sleep. I have a normal social life, a boyfriend whom I've been with for 51 months, and a family who's got my back through it all. Lessons were learned, paths were chosen and crossed, but behind this young woman's facade is a little girl who struggles to defeat her illness and eventually be told that she can stop being dependent on valproic acid.
