I Don’t Thank My Bipolar for Anything
I don’t thank my bipolar. For anything. Not a single thing.
I don’t thank my bipolar. For anything. Not a single thing.
I am more than a diagnosis, and I don’t have to pick between labels.
Maybe you’re like me, wondering if the temptation to harm yourself will ever go away. If I’m being honest, I really wish it would.
That’s what I feel like when I’m in the depths of depression — that everything I do is meaningless — that all I am doing is passing time, waiting for it all to be over.
I spend much of my day supporting people in their lowest moments. I try to convey that they are worthy, that they deserve support and help, and how important it is that they take care of themselves.
The NFL was knocking on the door, and I was becoming the patriarch of my family. I didn’t have time to deal with all the baggage I was carrying on my shoulders. Instead, I shoved my emotions down and repressed how I was feeling because that’s what men did, right?
I never felt anger over her decision. From my own diagnosis of PTSD, I knew that much of what she did wasn’t her fault or entirely in her control.
As we welcome and observe this year's Mental Health Month, we want to build on the foundation we set last year by offering you four more core beliefs that we feel and believe wholeheartedly apply to you. To us, these statements are Black and White.
No matter how ephemeral those good moments are, they’re what I live for.
I didn’t realize how many people were in my corner until I actually let them into my corner.
I reached five years of being self-harm free this past October. It was a milestone that often seemed impossible to achieve.
It was a matter of telling myself, “I want to live,” even when all I wanted to do was die.
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