I never know what will happen in the future. Will I stay stable? Will I become manic?
For years, whenever I’d see people struggling with obvious mental illnesses, I couldn’t relate to their struggles. There was this huge line that divided me from them: I was normal and they weren’t.
Until I ended up on the other side of the line.
It started when I was 27, married with two kids. Life was busy but manageable. Then things started to change. I started having sleep problems, and I began feeling low, depressed. I tried to do everything I could to get myself back together, but nothing helped.
Then I found out about a workshop being given by an author I liked and decided I was going to attend, despite my struggles, despite the fact it was across the country in California. I barely slept over the course of the workshop. The kosher food was inedible, and I hardly ate. Yet by the end of the workshop, I was feeling happy and connected to others — which in retrospect, didn’t make any sense.
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