A few moments are midnight… Everyone is asleep except for myself. I attempt to wile away my insomnia with television, books, and social media.
Surprise, none of it works.
In the bitter cold of January, it’s more than the air outside that has a bite to it. This is the time of year my depression is in fine form, out for all to see. Amid the aftermath of tinsel and twinkle lights, a darkness settles I cannot shake. But for all the beautiful pills I consume morning after morning simply to keep me alive in this sickness, I’d have faded into the abyss long ago.
I find a hesitant optimism in my sadness. While I still shed quiet tears for the stigma of my pain, while I will continue to go up and down in the cycles of my bipolar disorder, I am a lucky one.
With eyes half shut, I am alive. My life was saved. So I’ll let the tears fall, I’ll feel what is necessary to feel, but …
I’m still a lucky one.