I’m in Corpus Christi this weekend with my family visiting my younger sister at college. Last night we got a tour of her dorm, which in all honesty is more like a luxury resort, and had dinner with her and her roommate who also happens to be her best friend.
All signs point to my sister thriving in this environment. I can tell that while she makes claims of homesickness, she is actually where she is meant to be. She is adjusted and happy. This is what I wanted for her. I was nervous she would end up like me. Nervous and unsure to the point of collapse, eventually returning home defeated and full of self-doubt. Now I know she’s going to be just fine.
What I am is what I can best describe as morosely jealous. She is living the life I thought I was going to have; independent, making her own choices and guiding her life in a direction she chooses.
I think this is an intrinsic part of being bipolar. We feel jealous of those that are normal. We feel frustrated because while our minds our intelligent and capable of great things, our illness often betrays us, pulling us backwards just when we were about to move forwards. I try to remember this, not as a form of self-deprecation, but as a reminder that while I may not be where I want to be in my life, I am living my life to the best of my abilities.
I also remind myself that I have submitted an application to a college near my home for the spring semester. I remind myself that my disability case is beginning to make a turn for the better. I try to hold close to soul the fact that I have a constantly supportive family. In the end, on days when my mind is sound and the anxious voices grow silent, I know that I’ll eventually end up where I want to be. I just may take a different route to get there.