Sometimes I get so wrapped up in avoiding the bad days that I don’t realise the days that aren’t bad are actually good, so a lot of what I write about mental health is from a place of struggle. I’d like to share something good.
I’m better. That’s a hard thing to say, because recovery is a long process. Recovery doesn’t come knocking at your door and take over one day while you’re staring at the ceiling waiting for it: it’s an active thing. Recovery doesn’t happen without a lot of hard work and commitment, and I don’t think it’s something that ever stops. So it’s a hard thing to look back on the past couple of months and see how far I’ve come.
I’m not at all suggesting that I’m fully recovered. That’d be silly. Bipolar isn’t something I’ll ever fully recover from, which makes it scary to admit to myself that I’m well. I can’t quite describe it. It’s a tentative acceptance, guarding myself in case I’m wrong. I’m on a journey through this thing that I live with, much like a dodgy knee that plays up every so often (except the knee goes rogue and does some crazy things it’d rather forget sometimes). I’ll have periods of stability and I’ll have periods of highs ((hypo)mania) and lows (depression), but right now I’m stable. It feels so good to write that down.
I have my life back. My friends and family have Sophie back. My life is ahead of me, unwritten, and I’m ready to live it. I wake up in the morning with a bright and quiet excitement for the day, and I go to bed with gratitude in my heart for the good things in my life.
I’d encourage you to give yourself a bit more credit for the things you achieve. We’re capable of more than we realise sometimes.