Those of you whom I've texted over the past couple of weeks know this: I've finally accepted the fact that I am in need of treatment and therapy.
It didn't help, of course, that a few days ago certain people whom I've held in great esteem slammed my decision to get professional help, to finally take a break from the tedium of the past several years.
I wonder if these people have ever experienced what it's like to be different from everyone else - and I don't mean different in a good way. I wonder what they would do if a member of their families or their circles of friends also suffered from bipolar disorder or some other malady of the mind and body.
It is my personal belief that prayer can - and will - work wonders for me. However, I think the road to recovery from so many years of pain also entails a great deal of acceptance. It is something that one should not do half-heartedly, nor should it be a case of leaving it all up to Divine Providence. It also shouldn't be a case of leaving things to chance or putting one's trust in temporary solutions.
Neither chocolate nor busting my backside off with hours and hours of exercise can help me at this point. I have to look back at the past to face the future, to seek the necessary treatment, to accept the right kind of help whenever and wherever it is offered.
At this point, I'm taking some time off from work. I spent today retracing my past, specifically the happy halcyon days I spent in college - the very first place where people actually accepted me, quirks and all. I had lunch and spent much of the afternoon traipsing through Chinatown with a friend whom I can readily share laughter (and chocolate!) with. I arrived home tired, but strangely happy. It was a much different feeling from coming home bone-tired and worried sick over something or other.
To everyone who has prayed with and for me, to everyone who helped me get through last week (which was, horrifyingly enough, the first week of pharmacotherapy for me), even those who belittled my attempts to finally end the depression that has driven me (and just about everyone else around me) half-mad: thank you.
Acceptance of one's limitation, one's condition, and the support of others is the first step on the road to recovery.
Seriously, I think this time I'll finally be able to break free.
It didn't help, of course, that a few days ago certain people whom I've held in great esteem slammed my decision to get professional help, to finally take a break from the tedium of the past several years.
I wonder if these people have ever experienced what it's like to be different from everyone else - and I don't mean different in a good way. I wonder what they would do if a member of their families or their circles of friends also suffered from bipolar disorder or some other malady of the mind and body.
It is my personal belief that prayer can - and will - work wonders for me. However, I think the road to recovery from so many years of pain also entails a great deal of acceptance. It is something that one should not do half-heartedly, nor should it be a case of leaving it all up to Divine Providence. It also shouldn't be a case of leaving things to chance or putting one's trust in temporary solutions.
Neither chocolate nor busting my backside off with hours and hours of exercise can help me at this point. I have to look back at the past to face the future, to seek the necessary treatment, to accept the right kind of help whenever and wherever it is offered.
At this point, I'm taking some time off from work. I spent today retracing my past, specifically the happy halcyon days I spent in college - the very first place where people actually accepted me, quirks and all. I had lunch and spent much of the afternoon traipsing through Chinatown with a friend whom I can readily share laughter (and chocolate!) with. I arrived home tired, but strangely happy. It was a much different feeling from coming home bone-tired and worried sick over something or other.
To everyone who has prayed with and for me, to everyone who helped me get through last week (which was, horrifyingly enough, the first week of pharmacotherapy for me), even those who belittled my attempts to finally end the depression that has driven me (and just about everyone else around me) half-mad: thank you.
Acceptance of one's limitation, one's condition, and the support of others is the first step on the road to recovery.
Seriously, I think this time I'll finally be able to break free.
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