Expecting great adventures to end with rainbows and butterflies undermines what lies at the heart of it all—honest survival.
Living – Surviving – Thriving
‘Living’ means something different to me now. What I consider living, is someone else’s surviving, and another’s thriving. I want to share what living with certain conditions looks like, so I have started a process of charting what Living with Bipolar Disorder, and Living with ME, entails. A diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder was the start of a cathartic journey of acceptance and reckoning with the world around me, and within. Throwing myself into the outdoors helped to steady the see-saw of emotions and senses, and opened up a new trajectory for a life on my own terms.
With the more recent diagnosis of ME (cfs) (My-algic Ence-phalo-my-elitis), I am not just tongue-tied trying to toss this term about, I am now also restricted in what shenannigans I can get up to. The course I’d chartered to manage my Bipolar Disorder has been thrown overboard. I am still navigating what I can do at home, including walking up and down stairs, self-care and accessing a keyboard. As I settle into this new rhythm, I feel as certain as ever that there is a life to be lived with these conditions. Whilst I figure out how to move forward, I have put all of my challenges, creative plans and extra-learning into one place. Right here.