Page 111 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“Oh, thank God.” Hunter holds a hand to his heart like he’s having chest pain.
“You must really like him, then, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah.” His face gets even more red, and he smiles so big I’m surprised his lips don’t crack.
The rest of the time until the open mic passes before we know it. Jamal is one of the first to show up, then Avery, Moni and Abuela, Mami, Doña Violeta, Yami, Bo, and our friends from Slayton.
Hunter and I had saved some seats for everyone, so we can all sit together. Jamal doesn’t notice the ring on my finger until after he sits down next to me. I swear his sudden smile could light up the bottom of the Pacific. I let the ring be the proof that I’m donehiding him away. He takes my hand in his, right in front of everyone, and kisses the ring, then the back of my hand.
Maybe my PDA with Jamal gives Hunter some confidence, because he turns to Avery and asks if he wants to hang out again. I’m not sure if Avery realizes Hunter is trying to ask him out or not, but he agrees nonetheless.
Then I notice Abuela and Doña Violeta go to sit together, and since I still don’t think they’ve told anyone else about their situation, I pretend not to notice that they’re holding hands under the table.
But then I catch Moni’s eyes and see she’s also noticing Abuela and Violeta holding hands. Her mouth is dropped open in a huge smile and she gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing the words “I did it!” even though she had nothing to do with this pairing.
A sign-up sheet for the open mic gets passed around, and with Jamal’s encouragement, I gather the courage to put my own name on the list.
Jamal stands at the mic when the event starts, introducing the mission of the open mic, which is to amplify queer voices and create a safe space for LGBTQ+ creatives to share their hearts on stage. He leads off the open mic with a queer love poem about falling in love a second time with your first love.
A musician follows his act with a few gay love songs, inviting people to get up and dance. Yami and Bo giggle as they slow dance together. Doña Violeta takes Abuela’s hand, hips swaying to the music, and Abuela reluctantly steps into rhythm with her.
If you had told me a month ago that Abuela would be dancing and laughing like this for everyone to see, I would have said you’re crazier than me.
Eventually Jamal callsmyname, and the crowd looks aroundexpectantly for someone named Cesar to come to the stage. I take a deep breath and force my feet to move one by one until I’m in front of the crowd.
I let out my breath and pull the spoken-word piece I’ve written out of my pocket, unfolding the paper in my shaking hands. I can do this.
The first thing I learned after my bipolar diagnosis was to keep my mouth shut.
You don’t tell anyone when you’re manic that you can talk to God.
You don’t tell anyone when you’re depressed that you haven’t showered in a week.
You don’t tell anyone that you think your meds are being used to mind control you, because it’s better to be dead than crazy.
You don’t ask your mom for the day off school because God told you to kill yourself, and you’re afraid if you get out of bed for class you just might. You don’t ask for the day off, because it’s better to be dead than crazy.
And most importantly, you can’t ask for help. They’ll think you’re crazy.
Crazy, according to Google: adjective. Mentally deranged in a wild or aggressive manner. Used in a sentence. ‘She went crazy and assaulted a visitor.’
Noun. Mentally deranged. Used in a sentence. ’Keep that crazy away from me.’
Deranged: Adjective: mad, insane. Used in a sentence. ‘The gunman was deranged.’
So, for a long time, I kept my mouth shut. I don’t bother telling them I feel guilty killing mosquitos, or that I can’t hurt the monsters playing Undertale. It wouldn’t matter if they knew I was crazy. So, for a long time, I kept my mouth shut.
No one needs to be reminded I’m crazy. No one needs to know how, even though I can talk to God and he talks back, I still feel alone.
I don’t tell anyone, even when God tells me to kill myself, because I learned it’s better to be dead than to be crazy.
It was never the voices in my head telling me that, though. It’s my peers, movies, TV, comics, video games, Google, even myself.
But I’m not better dead.
I won’t stay silent anymore, so go ahead and call me crazy.
Maybe I am crazy.
