Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman. She was a black barbie, tall and
perfect, and she had a great and wonderful life. ( Note: I have never fit this
description. I asked God can I be tall in Heaven. He said no... Back to the
tale, which is true.) I went to church with her.
Barbie was amazing in her zeal and love for God. She felt so deeply. She was
very Martha Steward, but not a Vulcan like Martha. Barbie was fun. And children
Barbie started acting weird. Sometimes she'd laugh for no good reason, and go
all spacey on you. People begin to talk in whispers about this. But, she was
very loved, and very important. And her weirdness was largely overlooked.
Then Barbie wasn't fun. She was all paranoid and attacked another woman right
there in church because she thought the woman was talking about her. Barbie was
soon diagnosed and treated for postpartum depression and bipolar disorder. Turns
out it runs in her family.
Then Barbie disappeared. Not literally, but she was wiped out of peoples
minds and hearts. All that she was and all that she had done at this church,
gone, because she takes psych meds, and is not "miraculously healed".
Where I come from, black women, especially young, attractive, successful one’s,
aren't allowed to be crazy. I don't care what you were/are, "crazy" is
a dirty little secret that must be hidden. Ironically, lots of people said
Barbie was demon possessed. You can be demon possessed in this church, but not
bipolar. You can be a "drunk" or a "crack-head", but don't
try "crazy". No one can accept that.
I know another beautiful, black woman who is bipolar. She spoke to me about
it in the guarded tones common to someone who has been given hell about
something. I protected her secret and thanked God things had not been so hard
for me. But I was wrong. I was made an invisible woman, too. I was so caught up
in my life I didn't notice.
So here I am, showing my underpants to the world via the Internet. I have
wondered what would happen if people I work with find out. I have wondered what
would happen if the parents of the children that I care for find out. I have
wondered what will happen if I don't feel better, soon. These thoughts scare me
The truth is, I am no less "me". I am great with kids, and I know
how to get help when I need it. The truth is, there are people that need to hear
what I have to say, and for some reason, I am one of the ones here to say it. I
wish there was an Indigo Blue lady to help me navigate the deep waters of
bipolar disorder way back when.
So in defiance of being made invisible. I am saying loud and strong:
"Indigo Blue, a black, bipolar woman is here. I am not alone. I am not
"crazy". I am not demon possessed.
I am healing, and taking my sisters with me.