Living With Scars
The thing is, my scars—what should be a sign of healing, perseverance, and survival—can be the most triggering thing.
The thing is, my scars—what should be a sign of healing, perseverance, and survival—can be the most triggering thing.
Even the deepest and darkest parts of my mind know that I am not a burden. The amount of space I require will never change that.
We can’t control how or when grief comes, but we can control how we choose to respond.
There are far more people in this world on your side wanting you to know and be yourself.
Being in constant limbo, a mental battle, “fitting in” everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Love can come from so many places.
The depression I suffered my whole life has since become a symptom of a very manageable problem, not an innate part of me.
Every day people are prescribed medications to help combat infections, diseases, and physical ailments. And yet, there remains a stubborn stigma attached to medication intended to treat mental illnesses.
I’m afraid of being seen, of being heard.
Try as I might, I’ve found myself utterly unable to push the world back into a proper tilt, or pull it more quickly through these darker, colder months.
What does life look like long-term living with bipolar disorder? How treatable are the symptoms and will life ever get easier?
It’s discouraging, being almost better but not quite there.
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