The Challenge

I want to challenge you, those in this community that are sharing their experiences and stories. I know that we are all at different levels in our journey, and there is the idea that I had heard that blogging is not what it was when I first introduced the Bipolar Writer Collaborative blog but your stories matter. The challenge is that you continue to find ways to share your stories at the moment.

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The stories are the reason that we are fighting to end the stigma. As we share the experiences in the moment of what we have been through as much as possible, it means that you might reach one person. I am honored to all that share their stories, and you are doing a fantastic job. The challenge is to look beyond blogging and into other platforms. Blogging is great, and writing is what I love. If we challenge the next generation of human beings who struggle with mental illness without too many resources, we need to find ways to bring them into the fold. They are the ones that will be taking on the challenge that we all are fighting for–ending the stigma.

Growing up in a world that we never talked about mental illness culturally and in America’s schools was tough. I had no idea that I had a mental illness. I knew suicide was wrong, but now what it meant to be suicidal was steeped in more profound meaning. The truth was that even when my diagnosis at twenty-two. It was a struggle to get an understanding and the outside world. There were not many resources or groups that I knew of, and it meant I was alone.

Technology and social media platforms are at our disposal. We can use what makes us comfortable. The younger generation needs to hear our stories even if you are in your twenties or beyond. Mental health advocacy is a collaborative effort for all of us. No matter our age or sexual orientation, the stories are essential to our collective effort to let the world know with one voice that they will hear us. That is what I challenge. Writing a blog is excellent, but as I learned in 2020, there is so much work that we can do. Mental health advocacy is something we all can do at a level that is good for you. 

Stay strong in the fight, share your stories, and know I am always with you.

The Bipolar Writer Podcast Interview with A.K. Wilson The Bipolar Writer Podcast

About A.K. My name is A.K. Wilson, or otherwise known as Angel. I am a mother, blogger, mental health, and domestic violence survivor advocate. I am a multi-genre author and writer.¬† I was born in New York, Raised in NJ, made a home in Kentucky. I live life to the fullest and cherish every moment. My links ūüôā Contact James If you are looking for all things James Edgar Skye, you can find his social media visiting Also support a life coach that has influenced me along my journey of self-reflection: The Bipolar Writer Podcast is listener-supported, and for as little as $5 a month, you can help support the mental health advocacy that I do by visiting Please help this podcast grow by sharing with friends or anyone that you think will benefit from the experiences of others and myself. You can also find me on the following websites. You can also find me on the following websites to book your interview, ask questions, and reach out to me. Purchase my books at: — Send in a voice message: Support this podcast:
  1. The Bipolar Writer Podcast Interview with A.K. Wilson
  2. The Bipolar Writer Podcast Interview with Hunter
  3. Interview with Amy The Bipolar Writer Podcast
  4. The Bipolar Writer Podcast Interview with Norm
  5. The Bipolar Writer Podcast Interview with Kathleen

Always Keep Fighting.

What is the worst that can happen?

James Edgar Skye

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What Social Anxiety Stole From Me

I have had a lot of time recently to think about what I have lost in the last three years to my social anxiety. It is funny, in the moment you think about the things that you have lost.

The most glaring thing is it has been well over two years since I have been in a movie theater. That is so strange, but I don’t remember the last movie that I saw in the theater. Not to mention I don’t know the last time I saw a live play. I miss these things, but I have so much anxiety. It saddens me the things that I lose to my social anxiety.

What kills me is that I want to do things. Go to the beach which is twenty minutes away. I want to go enjoy a nice cup of coffee and read a good book, but I am not great out in the world. I am so afraid of having a panic attack and losing control in front of people.

If you had read any of my anxiety blog posts you know that control is something that I struggle with in this life. It is one of my weaknesses.

I feel lost when I lose control, and it is one of the reasons that I tend to isolate especially at this time of the year. I hate that I let myself get to the point where I do all my work at home, although there are some extenuating circumstances this time, isolation is a safe place.

I have lost a lot of things in this life to my social anxiety, but it is not all bad. There are ways to improve on my social anxiety through therapy and cognitive behavioral therapy. I have made conquering my social anxiety a significant goal in 2019. I will, of course, be writing my journey down as always. Sharing through experience is the best thing.

Always Keep Fighting


My GoFundMe Page

The Bipolar Writer blog is raising the money to upgrade this site to a business blog. This will take this blog to the next level and I will be able to allow people to sell their written work here on my blog. There are also so many big things that come along with the business plan so that we can continue to share mental illness stories. 

I know it is a lot to ask. So many of us in the mental illness community struggle to meet their basic needs. Here is James asking for money. I know the struggle (it is why I can’t spend the $300 plus of my own money to take the blog to the next level.) With everything going on with my memoir and self-publishing this blog can use your help. If you can give anything, not matter how small, can be a game changer.

We have raised $135! That is amazing.

We are still short of our goal of $325, the cost of the upgrade for a year. If we raise enough, I’d like to upgrade for the next two years (which totals $435.) If you can donate it would mean the world to me, if not I understand. 100% of what is raised will stay with the blog and only used to upgrade.

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Tweenager Teachers

For a while, I have not been able to write. ¬†I was consumed by working to save lives (through amazing organizations), buying beads to make awesome jewelry in the future, discovering double chocolate coffee and awesome stuff like that. ¬†And then as to be expected in a comical existence such as mine, life took over me. ¬†It started by my kids being held at gunpoint for their phones, an immediate emergency extraction of teeth (x3), a dose of severe gastro which meant I couldn’t take my medication, followed by being robbed at home, of three of MY most prized possessions: ¬†kettle to make coffee, my NEW phone (that took amazing pictures of my children), and my speakers that lifted me with mom cooking tunes, which usually brought about (never show anyone) mom cooking showstopping dance moves, whilst making supper before my family would usually get home.

At first, I was overcome. ¬†Disabled even. ¬†Angry, sad, a lot of things. ¬†I put my development hat on and argued that crime was a result of so many years of pain, impoverishment and racial segregation and that it would be addressed if we worked harder to address poverty and inequality. ¬†That argument lasted a good three minutes until I profoundly missed my so carefully compiled biscuit baking board on Pinterest, and the opportunity to take a selfie where my ex-phone automatically added lipstick and eyelashes. ¬†Which self-respecting girl with mental illness doesn’t want a phone that makes her look like she has made up on (which she never wears) and makes her look awesome even better than other filter adding apps we’ve come to know and love. ¬†NONE. ¬†No. ¬†We all want to look like we’ve spent hours applying our faces, when in fact, I usually prefer to get up after nine, stay in pj’s ’til five minutes before my family gets home, and then I run and shower and pretend like I’ve been um, clean, the whole day.

If you thought this was enough – the mental illness gods thought they’d add another dose of ¬†“humor” into my life by bringing about an impromptu sleepover of nonstop eating/ talking/walking/playing / loud 12-year-old girls. ¬†x 4. ¬†And I will say that I loved my coordinator of the sleepover – my own 12 years old – less. ¬† But what unfolded, was a number of tweens teaching me what was really important and what I needed to remember. ¬†Being multi-racial, different aged, different voiced, different body shaped, they told me about being bullied for being fat, for having a skirt too short, basically anything that set them apart from others. ¬†Well, these others were pretty unscrupulous – they could even tease you for being thin. They talked about the popular girls who set the rules in the school, who issued nicknames that were scrawled inside the toilet doors of the school. ¬†That was heavily branded on the very vulnerable hearts and minds on whom they were issued.

A lot sounded similar. ¬†A lot sounded like the playground we found ourselves in as people with mental illness. ¬†The loud and silent taunting of ourselves because we are other, too extra, and in my case, much fat, chocolate inhaling someone, who is the most socially awkward person around. ¬†And I realized something as I was talking to them, attempting to offer advice: ¬†the bullies are usually less than those being bullied because let’s just been honest, most of us are in some way socially awkward whether we admit it or not. ¬†And that if we all stood up, mental illness or not, that if we all shouted stop at the same time, maybe just maybe, we’d be able to call out the bullies, and cut what could be and is the most emotionally damaging in its tracks. ¬†Because no-one should ever, ever keep quiet when someone else is made to cry.

For any reason whatsoever. ¬†So instead of being sad, instead of being silenced, or taken out by what life’s dished my way, I am reminded that friends and family are the most important, that material possessions don’t matter, and that being extra is ok. ¬†It’s more than ok. ¬†It makes us better than anyone else. ’cause alongside that extraness is a whole lot of empathy that my tweenager taught me today. ¬†I am reminded of what matters. ¬†Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.

I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

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