Truly Calm

…its not all nonsense, the clouds and the lava stream, although, it is best to observe without judgement, rather than ruminate.

Changing my brain has taken a good couple years of regular therapy and subsequently meditation practice. Last time I was going in rather deep with regard the compulsive part of my grey nut, so I’d like now to post something lighter and uplifting. Here’s some notes i wrote for an imaginary book of mine, regarding mindfulness and acceptance;

Non-judgemental and radical acceptance

Whilst noting during meditation (when i label whatever is going on as a ‘thought’ or ‘feeling’), one of my steps is examining judgements around the subject, once this is in play I can see if there are any judgements I want to change.

So, does this even happen? I have found that it does with acceptance. Its radical acceptance. Recognising the judgemental feelings, which are somewhat involuntary at first, it then helps to let go of judgemental feelings towards ourselves, if we first accept others. I can’t remember where I
read this, but it’s a good shout. So, as I recognise whatever is popping up or taking me away – be it a
thought, emotion or sensation, I can then examine, which is becoming much more fluid, and
then allow it to be there or go if it wants to. Breathe…

Accepting oneself unconditionally is liberating, likewise comparing with or judging others
only creates difficult feelings such as resentment or envy. Sometimes I notice the judgemental feelings in others and sometimes I am correct, but still, what I am doing is the equivalent of feeding obsessions. Or in most people: resisting difficult emotions. Seeking these things out is my own exposure, it helps me feed difficult feelings less, and sit with my feelings. Right now, I can write in my journal, all the thoughts that are popping up, including intense ones from the tsunami, but I don’t need to chase a response. I want to sit with difficult feelings, i want to feel them fully, for as long as it takes to reach acceptance and calm.

Feelings are subjective no matter how real they feel. Am I right? It is likely. For life in general, I do now strive to have a clear sight of my values, and organically create goals that support those values. As recent as this may be, this is something that is consistent with acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT);
“..Even the most privileged of human life inevitably involves significant pain” -Russ Harris


Depending on the situation, ‘positive thinking’ can be somewhat tedious in my opinion, because
it may involve living in denial of your real experiences, coming from my own experiences
with this. Thoughts and feelings are things that happen to you, but they are not you. (I wonder
what Thich Nhat Hanh’s take is on this). Nevertheless, we have to feel them fully because we
cannot control what pops up in our heads: good, bad, unpleasant, judgemental, violent,
pleasurable, insane. What do I mean exactly, what I am touching upon, i believe is unconditional self-
acceptance. 
 ‘’To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to
accept yourself.’’ 
– Thich Nhat Hanh


How do we ‘accept’ then? Well, we ‘recognise resistance’; This is recommended by things such as the Headspace meditation platform by Puddicombe. It is difficult at first, but everything is difficult at first. Therefore, what I am talking about is we have to acknowledge the core feelings. In episodes of severe doubt, you may find yourself wanting to perform compulsions for temporary relief. Sorry, I’m mentioning OCD here which I wasn’t going to in this one, but hey its OK I just wish to explain how difficult feelings make us feel. So for everyone else, this is similar to the feeling of needing a cigarette notably because something is making you feel depressed or anxious.

Once unconditional self acceptance is going on, then, everything can fall to a riverbed, we can reflect clearly, and understanding can prevail.

Sometimes I am conflicted and trying to figure out how to get past my mental blocks. There are quotes I write out too. I recite 10 mindfulness teachings I found useful. It’s easier to understand them if I first do a some meditation, as the mind naturally calms and quietens creating more space for understanding. I take my alone time seriously now, besides, my new meditation chair is neat.

My mental blocks, they seem to be caused by conflict. Perhaps it is where my illness was. Whatever the blocks were, I seem to be falling into reality a bit more, a bit more with it and a bit more
affected by things, in a wholesome way as opposed to a panicky or at times disturbing way.
Welcome, this will make more sense as we go. Light me up a victory dance.

So this acceptance i speak of, it seems to take time to realise and feel, as does relief from anxiety. The brain won’t change overnight. But what i want is to realise i can be totally at peace, at times, on my own, whatever i am doing. Acceptance must play a big role in this. Never feel conflicted again, which is one way of viewing everything. I hope i can continue to cultivate this kind of mind, changing my mind, and go about my day. No conflicts. This is the perfect time for me to write this, as i am on the outskirts of recovery (I have been for some time, with the odd relapse).

If we think about it, what I call ‘no conflict(s)’ is part of what’s involved in cultivating a non-judgemental mind, which, is what mindfulness is all about. So let’s pretend I am ruminating on the most disastrous disaster ever and beating myself up for it. I chose to say ‘OK, maybe its true, maybe I’m a terrible person and all of these bad things have happened’, but you know what, I’m not going to live my life in constant conflict, I’m going to be at peace with myself unconditionally. This is the only way i can branch out and be calm. It’s a limitless journey but one that will be fulfilling.



The List.

 

I once read that a good strategy in dealing with bipolar is to recognize what is an episode and what is just a run of the mill bad day. When I find myself feeling “moody” I make a list of things that are pissing me off. I look over it and try to determine if the things triggering my anger are truly things that I should be upset about or if I am overreacting. Whether or not it is an episode, it is a way to hold myself accountable.

 

I thought I would give you a glimpse into my list from this week. It truly is….something. If anything, it is hilariously ridiculous.

 

  1. I walked into the copy room to use the copy machine and there was a coworker in there organizing the incoming faxes. I just started the job so I asked her if I needed to dial nine to fax, to which she responded no. As I start typing in the number in she turns to me and says, “you have to wait until I am done with the fax machine”.
  2. People answering a question with any information outside of the answer to the question I asked.
  3. I work with a woman named Carrie. That is how she spells her name. She is from New York. She corrects anyone who says her name without the New York accent.
  4. Someone held the door for me and then proceeded to their car. When I went to back out (after taking time to plug my phone in and respond to a text) they were backing out behind me and I had to wait.

 

This list is small. This is because I am saving you from the 13 other ridiculously unimportant things that pissed me off. As you can see, I blew things out of proportion.

 

My whole life, my grandmother has hated when someone does not clear the microwave after using it. Lets say that you put food in to heat up for one minute and took the food out after 45 seconds. You better not leave that fifteen seconds on the microwave. My thoughts on this have always been if I see it as being easy enough for her to just not say anything and clear the microwave, then it is just as easy for me to do the same.

 

These things that happened did not hurt me or alter my life in anyway. It is far easier for me to make myself aware of this than it is to explain to someone that I have a mental illness full of mixed episodes and mood swings where I blow up over the preferred pronunciation of YOUR name.

 

I am a huge proponent of people learning about mental illness, ending stigma, and coexisting with those that have them. I am not a proponent for expecting everyone around me to deal with the fallout of my bad days.

When Mental Illness Can Be Difficult to Accept

It is difficult to accept when you first learn you have a mental illness. Sometimes it’s a shock when the doctor tells you, but you believe and trust the doctor and begin exploring options towards recovery. What if it’s not a doctor? What if your family is telling you to get help or telling you why certain behaviors make them think you have a mental illness? Will you accept it when your friends or family say you have a mental illness? I have seen some people reject the idea and run from it instead of considering getting a professional opinion.

I can understand why some people have this reaction. When I first looked into the symptoms of Complex PTSD, I was shocked to learn how much of what I thought was my personality derived from symptoms of this disorder. While I learned many of the things, I didn’t like about myself were symptoms, I also learned many of the behaviors and traits I identified with most were symptoms. This was a hard reality to accept. The inner image I had for myself was wrong and I felt lost. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

It took some time, but I eventually started to accept this new self-image. Certain things were reidentified in different ways, but I am still the person I have always been. This new information only made me understand myself more. I know myself better than I did. It takes time to get to know another person and this is true of knowing oneself. The hardest part is accepting and learning how to move forward. I’m still struggling with moving forward. Most of my life I didn’t have a support system. I have a small group of people now, but the path forward is still difficult.

Anyone who feels their family is attacking them with accusations of mental illness, my advice is to see a professional if for no other reason than to prove everyone wrong. Don’t argue. Offer to see a counselor and get an official diagnosis. Too many mental disorders have similar symptoms and behaviors and it can be hard to determine what is causing certain behaviors. Even from a psychiatric professional, the news is difficult to process and accept. Remember that, despite the stigma, mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of and does not make you less of a person. It is one more battle you weren’t expecting, but it can be won. Don’t give up.

Photo Credit: <unsplash-logoPriscilla Du Preez

Feelings of Freedom

It’s been a while since I have written here on TBW blog. I haven’t had much of anything to say and nothing educational to share leaving me silent. I can’t help but wonder if anyone noticed. I am not an attention seeker by any means, it is my curiosity that wonders aimlessly. I’m sure I am not the only one who wonders such things.

The content here continues to flow at a steady rate with some profound writers adding their insight. As I peruse around the net I can’t help but notice the influx of mental health focused blogs. That is wonderful news for the mental health community. People are stepping out and speaking up about their experiences with mental illness. We can only go up from here.

Being a part of this mental movement makes me feel included, something I’ve not ever felt. Many of you do not know this but I run two blogs, a personal one and another I am trying to monetize. I didn’t realize how welcoming the mental health community of WordPress was until I ventured out into this other arena. Let’s just say they aren’t as welcoming.

It sounds like I expect to be coddled but I don’t, I only now realize the impact the mental health community has had on me. I allow myself to be vulnerable because y’all seem to accept me for me. I allow myself to be honest and raw because y’all respond with kindness. Most importantly, I am me with this community because I have been embraced.

We are a different breed of human and I am slowly beginning to acknowledge there is no other place I need to be. In other places, I don’t feel free. Instead I feel restricted and monitored, weird and uncomfortable. I want to crawl out of my skin.

That’s the thing. I’ve finally been accepted for having bipolar, OCD, and anxiety. I’ve finally been accepted for being me. That is a great yet foreign feeling. On most days I try my hardest to not feel but being a part of this community has taught me that it is ok to have feelings and more so share those feelings.

That is what brings me here today. Feelings of gratitude for each of you. Regardless of your diagnosis, I hope you too feel free in this space.

Journey to a Diagnosis — The Series

It’s hard to sum up about 17 years of ups and downs with mental illness in just a few posts, but that is what I have attempted to do in my “Journey to a Diagnosis” series.  This may just be the beginning.  However, it’s a good start and gives a general overview of  how I went from fear and confusion about what was happening to me, to understanding what mental illness is and the role it plays in my life.

I may add to this as time goes on, and if that’s the case, you will see more links added here.

Thank you for being a part of my journey.

Journey to a Diagnosis–The Series:

Journey to a Diagnosis, Part I

Journey to a Diagnosis, Part II

Journey to a Diagnosis, Part III

A Bipolar Writer Guest Blog Spot

I have the honor today of sharing another guest blog post here on The Bipolar Writer blog. The bloggers name is Laila Resende and she is sharing a story here on my blog.

You can find her blog and her work here: thoughtinventory.home.blog/

HOW MY MOTHER’S DEPRESSION TAUGHT ME ABOUT ACCEPTANCE

Growing up, I wasn’t familiar with the concept of mental illness. I would always spot my mother crying “for no reason,” or see a fair bit of pills on the kitchen counter and brush those off as natural occurrences. After all, if it happened on a daily basis, it should be normal.

As a child, I remember being my mother’s shadow – that’s what she used to call me. Often, I would cry myself to sleep at the thought of losing her. She used to be my refuge, her legs a hiding spot from strangers.

I was an introspective little girl with a lot of insecurities. Unbeknown to me, I was looking up to an adult who had just as many, only hers were more mature than mine.

Inevitably, I ended up developing a Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) at 14 years old.

Before getting diagnosed, the excuse to my groundless fears would always refer to laziness or irresponsibility by those who had never suffered from anything similar. All labels were unrelated to an actual problem. And they all were my fault, apparently.

That, among other things, was what made it so hard for me to accept that I had the disorder. However, the biggest contributor was my background.

I come from a family that’s pretty acquainted with mental issues if you will. I have a depressive mother, a bipolar cousin, an agoraphobic sister, an anxious health aunt, and a brother with ADD. There are more members, of course, some whose conditions I’m unaware of.

I used to be mad at them, mad at the fact that I didn’t choose how and where I would be born and that I had to bear their weight on my back throughout my entire life, even though I didn’t want to. All I wanted was to have a normal family.

Still, I can recall one particular attack that made me forget about feeling like I didn’t belong for a while. Seeing that the condition was more serious than I had expected, I was determined to find treatment, even if reluctantly.

My mother stood by me all the way, from scheduling therapy appointments to psychiatrist visits, to combine counseling with medication as an efficient recovery method. And I trusted her, considering she has been through her fair share of hard times and survived them all.

A LOOK INTO MY MOTHER’S STORY

My mom lugs a lonely and tumultuous past.

Raised by an alcoholic father, a busy depressive mother and having to witness frequent money-related fights between them, she had only her two sisters to turn to in moments of hardship. However, they too bore their own personal issues they would rather not share with one another. It was pretty much each to their own at that stage.

In her late 20s, her marriage to my father has always been bound for disaster due to their divergences.

Dad was raised in a strict Catholic family, whereas mom was an avid reader of Allan Kardec’s works. Her late-night visits to her spiritist center of choice brought him a lot of suspicions, which in turn generated Homeric fights at home. As a result, she was separated from her faith in exchange for a pseudo-healthy relationship.

The previously mentioned events have undoubtedly contributed to the early outset of a depressive disorder. The recurrence of those rendered her incapable of dealing with the mounting tension on her own, thus causing her to resort to a dangerous combination: alcohol and medication abuse.

As any other substance abuser who’s deep into their addiction, my mother wasn’t acceptant of her situation. Admitting that there was, in fact, a problem present, was too much for her at that point. She wanted to feel normal by avoiding it, which made the consequences harmful.

In one particular night of heavy drinking, my mother collapsed and convulsed. She was immediately sent to a hospital.

The next morning, she realized the immensity of what she went through. Thereby, by her own desire, she decided she wanted to get treatment in a mental health institution.

One huge, life-threatening breakdown was the price paid for a mother to yield to her pride. Had she acquiesced to it earlier, she’d have saved herself a lot of trouble.

See, some people shove real problems aside on account of their – and others’— misconceptions about mental health.  They wait for a major disaster to take place to finally pay heed to what that illness has to present to them. I, for instance, waited for an overdue panic attack before seeking help to address an actual problem.

Whatever the mental issue is, it isn’t any less worthy of concern than a physical problem. In fact, they may even manifest physically as a result of negligence, like the time I developed psoriasis due to extreme stress.

If people took their time to search deep into their troubles, they would notice the mind might be responsible for more than they could imagine.  

THINGS TOOK A TURN

My mother hasn’t been the same after leaving that mental hospital.

The meds the doctors put her on are supposed to “rewire” her brain chemistry. For that reason, she has become laconic, doesn’t have the same old sense of humor and needs help remembering things. The person she used to be is long gone. It’s been well past 6 months, and I wish I knew how much longer this will last.

In a way, my fear of losing her came true.

It feels as though we’ve switched roles, though. She is now the little girl who hides from the world, who needs company to go to the most ordinary of places. Whenever that happens, I grow into the version of myself who does her best to quiet the anxiety down for a moment and takes care of her, just like she looked after me when I was a kid.

She’s getting used to being herself again, while I’m getting used to exploring a part of myself that is stronger than any type of anxiety.

Could I have avoided the current state of things if I had been born someway or somewhere else? Of course. But I’ve also learned that I’m fine just the way I am.

By

Laila Resende

Mania

Manic she creates

Challenging its fate

Teasing it

She flexes

Check’n it

She mocks it

While multitasking

It’s only from up here she sees the depths she has visited

A rebel

Toying with nature

Testing its power

She’ll put up a fight

Giving her thoughts freedom to roam

They disperse magic

in her dome

Cultivating a strategy

One that depression

promises to steal

But this time is different

She’s learned its game

And prepared for this part

She will stand her ground

Herself she has found

The piece she lost

Or perhaps never had

Yet she has wanted it

so bad

Striving for balance

and healing her wounds

She moves on

to a more positive space

Trusting her instincts she shall achieve

Obtaining strength and reprieve

Who, Me?

Who, me?

This was my honest response to my psychiatrist’s diagnosis of bipolar. Not only did I not accept it, I thought she had my file confused with someone else’s. She clearly wasn’t listening to anything I was saying. If she had been she would know that I am only ADHD.

Let me be honest and say that I was labeled bipolar multiple times throughout my life by strangers and by family so it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard but this time it was coming from a professional, a psychiatrist at that. Nevermind what happened after that because I left her office and did not plan on returning.

I didn’t know who she thought she was but she obviously needed to see me a few more times. And that she did. I committed to going back to her because I didn’t like her and that meant I couldn’t get over on her. In active addiction, I learned a great skill, manipulation. In trying to break this terrible habit, I told myself in order to remain sober, I had to get down to the source of my problems. Antidepressants worked fine for my anxiety, with an added just in case pill, but I was still experiencing depression. I needed someone who knew what the hell they were doing and who could see through my bullshit. And …. that she did.

I would see her once a month for 8 months before accepting a mood stabilizer. At the point in which I had, I was at my lowest in years. As soon as I walked through her doors she knew I was ready. She looked at me with emotion in her eyes. My pain was evident. She wanted me to help me. I refused brands I had tried. “Not that one”. Finally, I said yes to an atypical antipsychotic. One that promised to target the problem immediately. One with minimal side effects. The one I continue to take today.

The depth of my depression wasn’t the case for me saying yes. Research was. Over the eight months I researched and investigated the symptoms of bipolar, I read stories and I accepted that I am indeed, bipolar II with rapid cycling. The sad thing was that I was medicated as a bipolar patient without being formally diagnosed with bipolar. I was told I had major depressive disorder, never bipolar yet I was on mood stabilizers while institutionalized but when I wasn’t I only had antidepressants. Odd? Wild, in fact. I still do not know where the communication failed.

The symptoms that allowed me to accept my diagnosis were rapid speech and irritability. I have had severe anger outburst my whole life. I never knew this to be a symptom of bipolar. I thought bipolar was all about depression and mania but boy was I wrong. There is much more to this spectrum disorder. Irritability is a signal to a cycle, for me. It is usually an ending to a hypomanic phase which can last for days sometimes weeks. With medication, my rapid cycling is under control but that by no means makes me exempt from symptoms. I notice an increase in irritability if I miss a number of doses. I try not to miss my medication but sometimes I seem to forget only to quickly be reminded by unstable moods.

Ironically I do not have ADHD as I had self-diagnosed. My problematic lack of focus is on behalf of bipolar disorder. I have an overactive mind that rarely shuts itself off. I have terrible mood swings before and during my cycle. I have a lot of pent-up anger, for no apparent reason. I am not naturally happy even when I try to be. I am unstable, without medication. Hi. My name is Candace and this is my bipolar experience.

If you experience any of symptoms like or similar to mine and life has you low, I ask you seek professional help. Life can be better. There are options. You are worthy of a life with stability.

Retrospective

There are times I find that it’s hard for me to accept how things have turned out in life, being 27 and unable to work due to chronic illnesses such as scoliosis and rheumatoid arthritis, to keep it short, has had a huge impact on who I am as a person. This definitely isn’t the life I envisioned for myself, and sometimes, like most, I feel a little sorry for myself. Before my disabilities took hold, before my daughter, my husband and I were in a relatively successful local band, and before becoming a mother, music was the only thing in life that I always knew was meant to be.

Once you’ve been within reach of your dreams and gotten a taste of what that feels like, it’s incredibly difficult when lost. At one point, I actually allowed myself to believe that all my wildest dreams could come true, that I would get every little thing I deserved for putting everything I have into being the best person that I can be. Once those thoughts take hold, everything else goes unnoticed, including the first signs that what you thought was wild success, may in fact turn into a complete and utter failure of a situation.

It took years for me to get the courage to perform on stage as a lead singer, I mean after all, my only experience had been singing in choir, and singing in the car and shower. But once I let myself show the world my talent, I never wanted it to stop – I wanted to show everyone, not just those who doubted me or worked against me, but to show people who struggle to find the self-esteem and strength to follow their dreams that it could be done, by a nobody nonetheless.

While the band has been dead for a few years now, I still haven’t finished grieving, and while I haven’t completely given up on the dream, the more time passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to manifest any sort of true motivation to pursue it anymore. As sad as that is, it’s a product of my ever persistent lack of confidence, despite the fact that I proved to myself that I’m definitely not lacking the talent to make it happen. Instead, I hate my body and pity myself and find it hard to open up about it, but it’s not something that anyone I know can truly understand.

I never knew until recently just how detrimental a role physical pain can play on your mental state, but it has eaten away so much from who I am, who I know I’m meant to be, and everything I wanted to accomplish in my life, that I completely resent myself and feel weakened not only physically, but spiritually as well. To some people, hobbies are silly and insignificant, and while music has always been so much more than that, I’ve got to allow this transition to take place and find some way to feed my creativity without relishing in the fact that I’ll may not ever be able to share it with the world in the way I always dreamed.

I’m not giving up, but it’s time to switch gears.

The Grieving Process of My Bipolar Disorder Diagnosis

After my diagnosis of bipolar disorder, it took me many years before I fully accepted I had this life-changing mental illness.

The first step in any recovery is acceptance. I realized I had to accept the truth of the reality of my illness before I could be ready to seek the necessary treatments to start the recovery process. I had to be ready to fight and heal my pain and internal mental scars.

I wish my acceptance of bipolar disorder would have been automatic and not taken so many years because then I think my life could have improved sooner.

To begin to accept my bipolar disorder I had to go through a grieving process, which took me a long time. It was a painful process and journey for me.

1. Denial  I do not have bipolar disorder. I do not have a mental illness. You are wrong. I do not want this. I can still teach and do everything I used to do. I am the same good person. I am a great person so I cannot have this illness.

2. Anger – When I was first diagnosed, I was very ill from the side effects of the medications they were giving me and other reasons as well. I did not understand what was happening to me. This caused me to have a lot of anger. I blamed everyone around me and basically hated everyone, especially if they tried to help me. I was not a good patient at all, and I tried to fight everything they said and did to me when they tried to help me. I lashed out at others and made people feel bad. I have guilt for some of my past behaviors when I was first diagnosed, as I acted horribly. I felt like a horrible person at the time of my initial diagnosis. Ugh! My anger was very painful and intense.

3. Bargaining – Why me? If I stop taking all of my medications I will be “normal” again and I will be fine. I will show everyone they are wrong. If I stop taking my medications and stay away from all medical care, psychiatrists and hospitals and go back to my life the way it was before, everything will be OK. I will show everyone I am fine.

Going off all my medications was a bad idea because after a couple of years of not taking my medications and not receiving any help or support I had a full blown manic episode which lasted about a year. Because my episode caused me to become so severely ill I had to receive medical help again and have continued it ever since.

4. Depression – I realized the true magnitude of the loss of myself and loss of my life the way it once was. Everything changed for me. My old life was permanently gone with bits and pieces still hanging on but not many. I had no more control in my life. People were telling me how to live and who I had become. One doctor told me I would never be the same again but they could get me to live a functional life. What? That sounded like a death sentence to me, and it was like a death sentence for many years, as I tried to end my life many times. My life was put into a survival mode with doctors and professionals basically just trying to save me. I was not living, but I was trying to find a new way to survive for years. I thought: I am sick. My mental pain is horrific. They give me medication that gives me severe side effects and adverse reactions that I do not like and that change my personality. I have no friends, and I am so lonely. No one likes me or even wants to be around me. I am worthless. The old me is gone and died. I cannot function, move or even get out of bed. I can’t live like this anymore. My life is over. No one will even care if I am gone. I am all ready dead. I want to die.

5. Acceptance – Acceptance is the last stage of grief and the most vital and important step on the road to recovery of my bipolar disorder. The acceptance of my illness and my new life was a slow and gradual process. Things slowly started to improve and look better over time. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness, but I saw glimpses of hope and of what happiness was again. I accepted that things will never be exactly the same again. I gradually started to adjust to my diagnosis, and my changed life. My depression began to decrease in spurts but would come back periodically and ferociously at times. I began to figure out how to live with my symptoms and start living my life again. My mind started to work better, and I began to feel more normal and a part of life again. I soon began the important process and one of the most essential parts of my new life of redefining who I was.

I had to find my new identity and learn to like myself again and eventually love parts of the new me. I found a way to work part-time again in a field that suits me well by helping others in the home health field and I started going back to church. I started getting out of the house more and around other people.

I do have bipolar disorder. I do have a mental illness, and that is OK. I have a new identity and that is OK. I am still a good person. I believe God saved my life and I became born again. I am still the same person I always was but now I am a better, stronger, wiser and kinder version of  myself.

My greatest blessing is that I have always been and am still a good mom. My children were always my life support and still are. I love my three beautiful, amazing and wonderful children beyond words. I am so blessed to be able to be their Mommy. Thank you, God.

Sometimes I still grieve parts of the “old” me and think about what my life could have been. I try to block those moments of memories of my past out of my head, as the past is the past, and I try very hard not to live there. I try to live in this very minute and moment one day at a time.

I never thought I would have a mental illness, but I do and I must strive to make the best of my illness and always strive to be the best person I can be and become. It is a never-ending battle of struggles, growth and discovery and acceptance of the new me every day.

I have found joy in the experience of living.

~written by Susan Walz

“Don’t wait. Make memories. Celebrate your life.” — unknown

Copyright © 2018 Susan Walz | myloudbipolarwhispers.com | All Rights reserved