Imagine a world in which your brain is never quiet. When you're laying down in bed, your brain decides to have a debate with itself. You suddenly have the unbearable urge to empty your bank account on useless things you'll never use. Your brain argues with you, sometimes making you feel insane while other times making you feel like the queen of the world.

That's what it's like to be manic depressive, a young woman with bipolar disorder.

For years I struggled with bipolar disorder without ever knowing what it really was. Bouncing from antidepressant to antidepressant as a young teen, I was fortunate enough to be properly diagnosed at 18 and get started on proper medications, but I hated myself for the longest time. My mother and I would always joke that I was "papered," but who would love a woman like me? I was someone who could barely function at times! I couldn't even trust myself with my debit card sometimes, much less the emotions of another human being!

I envied everyone else. Even if they struggled, they never had to argue with fictitious voices that always had something to say. They were never scared of the words that would come out of their mouths. They were never angry at the world for no reason, nor were they always riding a roller coaster of emotions on the verge of tipping over.

I hated myself. Sometimes I still do.

Sometimes I curse the world, curse every deity I can remember the name of, curse my friends and my family and the ground I stand on. Sometimes I curse myself for being too weak to fight it on my own. My own brain betrayed me, and sometimes I hate myself for that.

But as I grew, I learned something: as much as I hated my bipolar, it didn't hate me back. It was like an untrained puppy, bouncing around in the front yard as I tried to catch it. With therapy, my puppy turned into a leashed, adolescent dog; with medication, it turned into nothing less than a mature service dog. What was once an uncontrollable, destructive force became an aide in my hectic life.

When controlled, the random buzzing of bees within my head became the methodical thrumming of hard workers. Rather than struggling to string together a sentence, I could think clearly for the first time in my life. Those unrelated thoughts suddenly converged, my brain no longer drowning but finding connections in things even my peers couldn't.

But why? Apparently, people with bipolar disorder tend to have a higher IQ and are more creative. It's taken me to heights I could have never imagined. In fact, it still is. The "debates" inside of my head are no longer distracting, but excellent tools for forming opinions; the disorganization within me makes for interesting conversation; and my first-hand experience with psychotic episodes has made me a great friend and sounding board for others with mental health issues. If I wasn't "psycho," I wouldn't have any of this.

Don't get me wrong, it can suck. Many people would disagree wholeheartedly with me, but in my eyes, being psycho isn't as bad as I thought it would be.