So there it is … 21 entries, across 5.5 days, and 144 hours in that in patient mental health facility.
Reading that sentence out loud still takes my breath away.
I can’t believe I did it, but I can’t imagine it any other way.
I came home a week ago, and I’ve already lived a lifetime since then.
Priorities can be reordered. They have to be. I’d rest after 5.5 days in a “normal” hospital for a surgery, why shouldn’t I rest for this?
This experience is part of who I am now. I personally choose to look at it as my personal experience like Tony Stark’s … I’ve got this great defining moment and huge tool now to use. It’s part of who I am.
Bipolar disorder is not a death sentence anymore. It’s not 1935.
The meds are necessary, to keep the mania at bay, but I don’t work for them anymore. They work for me.
One week out, I’m feeling good.
I’ve heard from a few of you this week, expressing support … thank you for that. Your words mean the world to me, as someone who is dealing with all of this, seemingly all at once.
Now the question remains, when to take this public. The pull I feel to become an advocate for this is stronger than I think I could ever explain.
Bipolar is no longer a death sentence.