Two years ago, right before Christmas, I lost all hope. I felt so emotionally broken that everything hurt physically. It felt as if it took all my strength and effort to even breathe. My will to live had vanished. It was an impulsive decision. I had not planned it. I didn't say any goodbyes.
That evening, alone, I attempted suicide.
A friend brought me to the hospital. I was admitted and stayed for one week. There I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder type II. I was started on medication, but it was a long road to stability.
When I first came home from the hospital, I felt like things would never be okay. I was scared. Scared that my life had changed forever. People treated me like I was made of glass. I just wanted to be normal. I wanted to be treated like me, not as if I could break or snap at any moment.
Slowly, I began to get my spark back. I went to therapist appointments weekly. I saw my psychiatrist once a month. We adjusted medication. Changed medication. We worked hard to find a combination and a dosage that worked. I still see my psychiatrist every three months; I see my therapist every other week. I work hard at home by exercising and trying to find other healthy outlets for my emotions.
I still have bad days. I have days where I am frustrated, days where I am sick of feeling different from everyone else. I am scared of the judgment from other people. I am not like everyone else. I take three pills a day just to feel okay.
But, after two long years, I have finally reached a feeling of stability. The suicidal thoughts that used to invade my thoughts daily are rare and fleeting. I don't spend all day everyday worrying about how I will feel tomorrow or if I will want to hurt myself again. I feel more stable than I have ever felt.
I hit rock bottom. But with the help of friends, medical professionals, and hard work, I feel okay again. It takes time and work, but I promise that you will climb back up. Rock bottom isn't forever. It's a place to start over.
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