Someone commented to me today, on World Bipolar Day, that it seems I want everyone to know I’m bipolar. I wouldn’t say that’s true. But for people who matter to me, people I want to know me, as I get to know them, yes, I want people to know I am bipolar.

I’ve never thought being bipolar was something I should be ashamed of. I didn’t choose to have it, it’s just genetics, in part; a few of my family members have it. Yes, some of the things I do when I’m manic or depressed are things I am embarrassed about, but I don’t think those things define me. I am more than my choices, which is true of anyone. We can make amends, we can learn to do differently, and we can forgive ourselves.

I’ve had a few negative experiences from telling someone I was bipolar, and to that I say “so what.” It’s unfortunate that the person I told behaved in a way that didn’t demonstrate awareness, but it’s not my job to educate everyone. Some people will just never get it. I may have been deprived of an opportunity due to their lack of compassion, but that just tells me to fight or take another path. It depends on the situation.

So I would say, on World Bipolar Day, that we are raising more awareness, but we still have a way to go before we don’t have the awkward silences, the misinformed comments, and the unenlightened actions that come from disclosing a mental illness. So we keep going. We choose to stay. We never give up.