So many diagnoses, so little time...
I thought I'd heard it all but ... alas ... I was wrong. Again.
Bi-Polar Disorder. Say whaaat?
Add another one to the long list of "conditions" which
describe the cyclical nature of my unresolved trauma.
Well, shit. Why is there still so much work to do?!?
Honestly, I'm beyond sick of picking up the pieces created by the people I couldn't escape.
WTF?!? Why is this my job?
My dad got off scot-free with all of his dirty little secrets under wraps, and I'm beyond pissed off, and sick of keeping secrets.
It's time to call a spade a spade.
The brutal truth is my recovery is my responsibility (no matter how I feel about it), and I have no control over anyone but myself.
So, I have to find a way to express my despair, rage, and grief in ways which won't hurt me or the ones I love, so these intense feelings won't fester and turn into_______________ (insert mental condition du jour here).
The diagnosis doesn't even matter because it isn't who I am.
I KNOW who I am:
I am a survivor.
I am a peacemaker.
I am an empath.
I am an advocate.
I am a humanitarian.
I am NOTHING like the ones who tried to break me.
I am NOT my mental health "condition."
I am a whole person who is f***ing tired,
but I'm here, and I'm not giving up.
So, take me as I am, cause I'm not going away...
I will stand up and speak out for those who struggle because they suffered at the hands of others.
Bi-Polar or not... I will stay.
R Jade McAuliffe-
Author, coach, and poet; believer in things unseen.
"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break."