Some people like to introduce themselves by saying that they're "a simple person." What does that even mean? No one's simple. I'm not simple. We're all complicated little shits just trying to get by. It's sad when people don't realize how wonderfully complicated they are.
So maybe what they're talking about is their life, not their selves. My life's simple. I've made my life super simple because that's all I can handle at the moment. I spent six years in college, the latter half of which I spent trying to finish my goddamn thesis. I spent about a third of that time having panic attacks, another third skipping class (probably, who knows, I barely even remember) because I'd rather stay in bed and binge-watch teen dramas I liked when I was in high school, and the other third, I don't know, having panic attacks in the library.
In many ways I'm kind of a late bloomer. It's so easy to get insecure when you see everyone around you building their careers, getting engaged, getting their own apartments, their own cars, where here I am, just barely starting out. But I've kind of learned to be okay with that. There's nothing wrong with moving at my own pace. At least I'm moving. Somehow.
Bipolar sucks. It's exhausting, it goes way out of its way to keep me from doing anything and being anything, and it's something you have to fight every single fucking day. But at least I know what it's called now. I know what I'm supposed to fight every single fucking day. I remind myself that it isn't all I am. I tell myself that someday, this will just be something that I happen to have. Some tiny nuisance. Like an allergy to dust.
I'm a late bloomer. That's all. Someday I'll have a car. Someday I'll be able to take my dog out for a walk every morning. Someday I'll have a significant other I can travel and paint walls and maybe even grow old with. Someday I won't be so afraid of everything.