3.5 years. Two hospitalizations. One note that said “Get help” on an empty bedroom door. This is the story of my estrangement from my daughters, what I had to burn down to become someone worth coming back to, and how I found my way back to them. This is not a highlight reel. This is…
One of the cruelest parts of bipolar disorder is never fully trusting good feelings. Is this joy—or the start of hypomania? Is it real, or is it a glitter-bomb that’s about to explode into consequences? Right now, I can see that some recent “good” feelings were actually mild destabilization during a medication change. Not a…
Three years ago, I publicly declared I was thriving—healthier than ever, fewer meds, solid friendships, my kids doing better. Four days later, I was drunk, high, manic, suicidal, psychotic, and locked in a psychiatric ward. That cycle repeated until I finally told myself the truth: sobriety wasn’t a preference, it was the only way forward.…