"Hey," Javier said as he placed his arm around me. "You're not crazy. I think you're brilliant. I think you're sunshine."

"Am I, though? Or am I just a very clever illusion? You've only seen one side of me. I lost my business because of this illness. My business. I built that thing from scratch with my own two hands. I slaved over it and sacrificed for it and invested all of my savings into it. I was so proud of it. And then, one day, I woke up and realized I'd murdered my baby when I wasn't in my right mind. I'd ripped it apart, limb by limb, like a fucking monster. And I couldn't do anything about it. I was so helpless. I was at the mercy of my mind who had a mind of its own. Everything that society told me was a virtue didn't work for me: not discipline, not positivity, not willpower. I've spent the past six months cleaning up that mess, and I'm still paying off the debt I owe.

Oh, and last year I was so manic, I forgot that it was Father's Day. I was visiting my parent's place in the country, and I was writing that goddamn book all the time — every waking minute. My dad asked if I wanted to go out for lunch with him and my mom. I said no, without even looking up from my desk. It wasn't until the evening that I realized it was his Father's Day lunch. The look on my dad's face broke my heart. I just felt like the worst daughter in the world, and I never want to be that person again.

This condition is painful and embarrassing, and I'm still really ashamed of it. I don't know how to get over the shame. My psychologist says I shouldn't be ashamed of it, but that doesn't help much. The truth is, I am ashamed. I wish I wasn't, but I am."

"Shit. I'm sorry," Javier said. "Does talking about it help? Owning it is the first step to taking back your power, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I've been making a conscious effort to not be secretive about it, at least with people I know. If I've learned anything in life, it's that shame breeds in the shadows. Keeping it a secret just expresses a belief that I should hide it. But there is a big difference between telling people I trust, and telling the judgemental world. Bipolar is so misunderstood. It still carries so much stigma."

"What's the stigma?" Javier asked. "I don't know much about the illness."

"Well, if you say the word 'bipolar' to most people, they think you're going to snap in an instant and suddenly start throwing objects at them in a rage, then be completely fine the next minute. But it's not like that at all for me. I'm not violent or volatile. I lived with Zac in a teeny tiny New York apartment for a whole year, and we only fought once. I lived with my ex for over a year, and I don't think we ever fought. We spent every day together, and not one fight was had. We were two very reasonable human beings, and if there was a problem, we just talked about it and fixed it. I'm very easy to get along with.

But people have this idea in their head that 'bipolar' means 'volatile and psychotic and dramatic.' The word 'bipolar' is even colloquially used as a descriptor for erratic behaviour, like 'oh, she's so bipolar today.' And people think you just need to 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps,' which is basically like saying 'your fucked up mind is a character defect, not a health issue.' I know it's just ignorance — and I'm personally ignorant about so many things, too — but I'd be lying if I said the stigma doesn't affect me. I just feel things in very extreme ways. I have periods of productive euphoria and periods of listless depression, and then long periods of complete normal. I've been pretty stable since I was diagnosed."

Javier listened as he lightly stroked my arm.

"So, yeah," I continued. "I guess I'm just scared to wake up the dragon again. I've only just managed to get my life in order, but I'll need to succumb to chaos to finish this story. I know what I'm like. Once I begin writing, everything else becomes irrelevant, and I start getting high.

And when I'm in that state, I feel like I can save the world. I feel like I must save the world because no one else is paying attention to the right things. Everyone else is asleep at the wheel and moving at a snail's pace, and my mind is guzzling rocket fuel as it charges forward at breakneck speed.

I think I'm Superman. I think I can solve problems that the brightest minds have spent centuries trying to solve. I think I can actually reverse-engineer the fucking universe. How crazy is that, huh? And then I come back down off that high, and I look around at the mess I've made, and I realize I'm just a silly little girl in a cape who has the audacity to think she can fly."

My breath caught in my mouth as I choked back a tear.

"But you just told me these 'bright minds' were obviously wrong," Javier said. "Even when you're not high, the logic still holds true."

"Yeah," I replied, "but it's not enough to be a king in this world. It's not enough to be right. You have to be a fucking warrior, too. You have to fight for what you believe in. You have to storm into the arena if you want to create change, and I'm up against Goliath. The academic system is a fortress of groupthink; a behemoth. It doesn't want to hear from me. I have zero authority. I'm completely ill-qualified. I'm an imposter."

"But Einstein was a patent-"

"No," I interjected. "Einstein was an educated physicist who worked in a patent office because academia rejected him. I'm no Einstein. I can't even speak physics lingo. I'm a giant walking prediction error-"

"What is a prediction error?" Javier asked.

"It's the gap between what your consciousness expects to happen, and what the information coming into your senses tells you is actually happening. The scientists expect that only scientists can contribute to this problem. But I know basically nothing about science, which is incredibly helpful when formulating new perspectives and incredibly counter-productive when it comes time to distribute them."

"How come?"

"Well, Stephen Hawking once said, 'The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance. It is the illusion of knowledge.' Goliath is blinded by his own illusion of knowledge. If you're a scientist and you believe you're just trying to figure out the details of how reality works, you're naturally going to expect the answer to come from another scientist who understands the details. As a result, you dismiss everyone who doesn't fit into a very narrow set of criteria. You think you know what you are looking for, so you build defenses against cranks. It's only natural. People don't want their time wasted. They're just collectively minimizing their own surprise. The academic system is a fortress designed to shoot down people like me before I even get within the vicinity of its walls.

And I don't particularly want to step out onto the battlefield and be slaughtered. I spent my twenties playing with all the things, and running around, and making a mess. And now I'm tired. I'm tired of the chaos. I just want to feel safe for once. I want to grow up, and fall in love, and get married, and have a family. And I can't do that if I keep choosing chaos over and over and over again like a broken record. It's irresponsible. If I'm going to have kids one day, they'll need a mother who offers stability — not one who spends hours and hours on unpaid obsessions while they starve.

So, yeah. I just don't know if I have the courage or the energy to fight this war. Ockham's Razor is the only blade that can kill King Materialism, but someone has to wield that weapon. Someone has to smuggle it past the castle's defenses if it's going to do its job. Someone has to be a warrior and a hero, and I don't think that person is me. I just have the lyrics from a Bo Burnham comedy special running through my mind-"

"What lyrics?" Javier asked.

I recited them.

I don't think that I can handle this right now
Look at them, they're just staring at me
Like, "come and watch the
Skinny kid with a steadily declining mental health
And laugh as he attempts
To give you what he cannot give himself"

Make Happy Bo Burnham

"He articulated it perfectly," I sighed. "I don't think that I can handle this right now. I don't owe the world my sanity. I'm not a martyr."