In the mental illness world there are words tossed around like “brave,” like “strong.” And, yes, I am stronger and braver than perhaps I have ever been since this illness discovered me, but I still need help.
I talked to a friend today – told her that I have been relatively stable, but still wasn’t ready for a “real” job. You know, wake-up-brush-your-teeth-eat-your-toast-stop-at-Starbucks-sit-at-desk-and-do-an-amazing-job. (I am sure there are those of you that will argue that no one is ready for that. Fine. But once I was and I was fucking amazing)! I wish I could convey a bad day, or a bad hour, or a bad minute – whether it be anxiety, depression, or mood swings. But I do not want you to know such things as they hurt your very soul. I am strong enough to handle them, or at least God thinks so.
I find my strength in these words that I write for you. I know, I KNOW, that sometimes, just sometimes, something I have to say touches a reader of this blog. That is strength, taking the hurt and the pain and the hardship and turning it into something useful.
You can do the same. You don’t have to blog. You don’t have to write. You could just be involved in a DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) group therapy session. I know I have tucked away bits I have learned from others. You could face your fears. You could not wash your hands more than once at a time.
I am stronger. I am. But I still have so far to go to “wellness” that sometimes it is crippling.
But I wake up each day and think, “Today is a new day. Tomorrow is in the past…Let’s go from here.”
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