No two of us are alike, but if I can reach one person, sharing my story will be worth it. I struggle with Bipolar Type I Disorder, PTSD, General Anxiety Disorder and Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Yes, I have my plate full. I have had many servings of each over time. When I refer to a “serving,” it’s my way of referring to my lapses. To have lapses from time to time is not unordinary. Overcoming these lapses feels extraordinary!

I’ve tried the gamet of medications. In fact, it’s easier for me to list the ones I haven’t tried. I have had to resort to ECT (electroshock therapy) for my depression on more than one occasion. With each serving, I try to take something new away from it besides the failure of my treatments. With all of my hospitalizations–and there have been many–I can take away encouragement of someone else’s battles and triumphs. I’ve tried on more than one occasion to end my life. When I’m asked is this my first attempt, I am honest and say, “No.” When I am asked how many, I really cannot tell anyone the exact number because there have been too many. One is too many! For myself, I simply say, “Three.” I like the number three. I played softball when I was much younger and I hated getting three strikes. It meant I was out. I think I hold onto the number three because I have surpassed it and am still alive by the grace of God and the care I continually receive. It’s not like I plan on repeating this horrific mistake, but triggers have lead me to the buffet many times. With my most recent suicide attempt I was rushed to the emergency department by ambulance. I don’t remember much after getting into the ambulance until I awoke the following day. Needless to say, I had mixed emotions about being alive.

I spent three days under careful watch and was eventually allowed some freedom. There were other individuals in the psych unit who had tried to end their “misery.” I listened to their stories as well as those with various psychiatric issues. I shared my story with them as well. I felt I was being looked at as “crazy” by several of them. The more I listened and the more I shared over the course of the next several days, I realized I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to live with how I was feeling any longer. The other thing that became evident to me was that I had a lot to live for and I understood the looks from everyone else. They reassured me that I had so much left in life to experience. It restored my hope. I understood that at no matter how nasty the vegetables that were on my plate, other individuals had more servings than I did and many of them tasted worse. I needed to be thankful for my situation. I needed to be thankful that I received another opportunity to address my mental health issues.

Each one of us struggles with different issues and different mental health disorders, but we all need to remember one critical thing. There is always hope if we hold on to it. We need to need to listen to those around us, those with struggles and those who love us. Try to remember that you are not alone. We are here. We are all in this together. I know I’ll struggle in the future, but I need to remember just as reminding you. Keep your hope and I’ll keep mine. As I said before, not a single one of us is alone.