It is 7:40 am. I wake up five minutes before my alarm clock, feeling generally well-rested. I have two cups of coffee, read the news, and check my email. I start working at 8:30, and at 9 a reminder pops up on my phone. It reads: Take medicine and meditate. Most days, I’ve already done these things. But it’s important enough that I keep the reminder, because I know what forgetting can do to me. I know what it can do to the people I love.
Two years ago, when I was off my medication, this kind of morning would have been unimaginable. I now have a routine. A stable, productive, healthy routine. Sometimes I look at myself and wonder who I have become.
Eight years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I was 20, halfway through college, and I had suspected for years that something about my mind was very different from my peers’ — my behavior more reckless, my moods more unpredictable, my sleeping and eating patterns more irregular. Read More>>