This. So much this. When I was in the depths of bipolar depression hell, I wanted to engage. I was thankful. But I was also a burden and believed I could never get my “gifts” back. I spent years hating myself for being 1/8 of the mother I had been. I tried suicide on 3 occasions because the physical and mental pain overwhelmed me. It was the best course for everyone, I thought.

Having lost a friend to suicide last week, I understand her torment. She once read my memoir about my own struggles and told me how brave I was for not giving up. She was brave too. She fought everyday until her disease lied louder to her than the truth.