Many years ago, I remember my mom and dad arguing about her telling the whole world our problems. And she answered something to the effect of: “the more people know, the more prayers we will get.”
And that struck me. Even as a young child I could grasp her desperation but also unwavering faith in God’s grace.
Since then I’ve been living a life where I’ve shared my most intimate, darkest moments for the whole world to see.
Was I fishing for prayers?
Maybe. Maybe not.
All I know is that I’ve grown up with an inherent yearning to share.
And that included my bipolar diagnosis.
I just wanted people to know.
I wanted people to know why I disappeared every now and then.
I wanted people to know that there were valid reasons behind my feeble excuses.
I wanted people to know about my bad days and good (I have those too).
I wanted people to know why I couldn’t read anymore, how terrible it is to hear things you cannot see and to have consecutive numbers spinning around in your mind over and over again.
I wanted the world to know that this illness is so real. It’s taken away from my life and confused the hell out of my loved ones.
I wanted people to know so much about my world that they had an opportunity to see for themselves that the illness is but a small part of who I am and who I strive to be.
The stigma and ignorance is killing us (sufferers and non sufferers alike) and if sharing this part of me will save one life then I’m all in. Of course I’m not saying that my story is so amazing that it could save the world. I’m saying that one sentence, one word could change someone’s insight and change their world. I’ve read so many ordinary stories by ordinary people who have changed my life for the better.
So I embark on a mission to share and get others to share.
There’s healing there.
I am so much more than this diagnosis.