My head was pounding. My blood was boiling. Rage was filled inside my head and I couldn’t control it. I was screaming, yelling, and ignoring the looks of fear and shock on my families face. I wasn’t in my right mind. I wasn’t even myself. At that point, I was the monster.

After that day, my life has never been the same. I feel as if I’m heavily sedated, walking around in a daze and always tired. I don’t feel like I used to feel. I’m not who I used to be. Everyone thinks I’m better than I was before, but I think I’m worse.

I’ve always been an independent person. And now, I have to depend on 400mg of medicine every day, just so I don’t loose my cool. My friends tell me that I don’t need the medicine to survive, but they’ve never seen me loose it completely.

I’m sixteen years old and I have stage two bipolar disorder. I see a therapist almost every month and I take medicine every morning when I wake up. Not only that, I have depression and anxiety. And every time anyone finds that out, I’m treated like some sort of animal that needs to be put in a cage.

I’ve been on medication for three years to contain my temper and to make sure that my depressed thoughts don’t come back. It’s nothing that I’m proud of living with but it’s something I have to live with. It’s a part of who I am.

Bipolar disorder doesn’t go away and it can’t be cured. The only thing they can do is contain the monster living in me, so I don’t completely loose my cool. They have to contain me so I don’t hurt anyone. They have to make sure that the monster doesn’t wake up. Because if the monster wakes up, I’m not the same person.

I have bipolar disorder and I call it the monster because it’s like my boogeyman. I never know when it’s going to come out but I know it’s there. And if the monster wakes up, then all hell is breaking loose.