The Beginning of Recovery

For the first time since I was 11, I don’t want to kill myself during the winter. It’s sad to look back and see all of the years I lost by simply not knowing any better. Not realizing how deep inside my illness I was.

I used to think of myself as having two speeds: very high and very, very low. I would chase the high seasons and do whatever it took to keep them for as long as possible—not wanting to fall asleep at night for fear of waking up as my scary alter ego. But now that I’m six months into treatment for bipolar disorder, it’s clear that even then it was a fake happiness. Even my highs had an overlaying shadow of gloom. That’s not to say I don’t have happy memories—I do. But my joy only reached a certain threshold and no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I prayed, I couldn’t break through. So instead, I broke down.

I laid in my bed in the behavioral health unit, crying, thinking “this is officially rock bottom”. I was surrounded by crazy people, and I was one of them. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I was terrified of being in the nut house, and even more terrified of leaving it.

Unpacking 20 years of mental instability isn’t easy, and recovery isn’t a linear process, but God has shown me how incredibly miraculous He can be. It’s like I’m experiencing life for the first time, and I keep thinking, “Is this what it’s like to be normal?” I’ve somehow tricked myself into being a morning person, I’ve started writing again, and I can make an appointment without throwing up. The smoke has cleared, the colors shine brighter, rainy days are cozy, cloudy days don’t make my brain vibrate.

I want to do this story justice though, so I'm going to take it slow. It won't be chronological, just whatever is on my heart for that moment in time. Hopefully we can all figure it out together. My only desire is that someone out there is reminded that they are not alone. Because as isolating as depression can be, more of us experience it than anyone would like to admit. The only way to fight back is to connect.

This isn't a one-way street either! As I share with you, I want you to share with me. Tell me your stories. Your hurts. Your celebrations. Because if we're going to go down to crazy town, we might as well go together.