The only appropriate title for an “about me” that is about me is Lauran AF (AF = as fuck, for family members who may be reading this) because I exemplify the “AF” phrase. I am over-the-top, extra, everything must be perfect, planned and plentiful, and if it is not I will have a dramatic AF response. This is cliché AF, but I experience emotions like a tsunami. An earthquake happens in my life, and I know there is a risk that an unstoppable, overwhelming, and dangerous force of nature may or may not soon follow. That earthquake does not have to be a bad event in my life. It can be a good thing too, like a promotion, a raise, a step forward in a relationship, or other stereotypical life events accepted as good by society. There’s a reason for my AF nature, though.
Even though it tries like hell to kill me, I live with Bipolar 2 disorder. (Yes, that is a joke about how often I think about death, dying, and have random uncontrollable thoughts about all the ways I could off myself.) Now let me be clear, I do my best not to allow mental illness to be a hinderance on my life. In fact, if I hadn’t experienced a relatively devastating and violent trauma in my adult life–a trauma that is the impetus for this blog–I think I would have gone my whole life without being diagnosed. I hate that Bipolar disorder has become such a defining feature of who I am, but if anything good came from the real life nightmare, it’s that I got the diagnosis. Bipolar disorder explains so much about why I am extra AF.
Before I go on, I want make sure you know that I am not the expert on the Bipolar experience, especially because there are two types: 1 & 2. I’m not here to tell you all those differences, but I am here to tell you what my experience of a mood disorder is like because it defines me despite me wishing it did not. To put it simply, I often experience happiness as an intoxicating ecstasy filled euphoria and sadness as an earth-shattering melancholic depression. I experience the latter–sadness–more often than I experience the former–happiness. Obviously, I am naturally inclined to chase the euphoria, especially when I feel the depression looming over me. During the chase, I am often erratic, somewhat nonsensical, grandiose, and impulsive AF, or as a psychologist would call it: hypomanic. Part of managing my moods is learning not to seek out the hypomanic phase, so that I do not go in the opposite direction later and sink into severe clinical depression where the sound of a garbage disposal entices me to shove my arm in it. There you have it, the basics of Bipolar 2, at least for me.
Now add trauma to those basics, and you have an emotional shit show–also known as me in this very moment. What else would an almost 30 millennial do, but start a blog to tell the world all about it as if her navel gazing really fucking matters. In my defense, my psych says it’s a good idea, so maybe it does matter. You can be the judge, but expect that your judgment could cause a tsunami.