On the Edge and Back: A Story of Strength and Support

This weekend, my world hit a breaking point. It felt like everything came crashing down in a way I couldn't control, leaving me facing some of my darkest thoughts. I remember leaving my doctor’s office, feeling an overwhelming urge to say goodbye—not in a “see you soon” way, but in a truly final way. I was saying goodbye to friends I was seeing, quietly wondering if this might be the last time. I was ready to end the pain, the guilt, and the shame I’ve carried with me for so long. But instead of acting on that impulse, I reached out to my psych provider. Together, we decided it was time for a hospital stay.

I spent the past three days in a psych hospital, trying to act like things were okay, but it was far from okay. This experience taught me why my providers have been cautious about diagnosing me with Bipolar II. During my stay, a weekend psychiatrist told me bluntly that, given my history with medications, he didn’t think I’d ever get better. Hearing those words shattered me. It felt like my hope was slipping through my fingers. I know my regular team doesn't share his outlook, and I refuse to believe that improvement isn’t possible. But I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t hit hard.

While I was there, I faced other challenges. One of my key medications wasn’t available, leaving me without it for three days, and my meds were often given late, which left me sick more than once. Still, I advocated for myself in every way I could. I fought for my well-being and pushed to be discharged today, and I’m relieved to be out. I’m not saying I’m entirely better now, but I am no longer teetering on the edge I was on Friday.

If there’s one lesson I’m taking from this weekend, it’s that I need to get better at asking for help. Reaching out has never come naturally to me, and I still find it difficult. But I realize now that if I keep giving everything until I’m empty, without asking for support, I won’t be able to keep going. I’m trying to learn what it means to truly lean on others and to make the changes I need for a real chance at recovery.

For everyone who has been with me on this journey, thank you. Your love, prayers, and support mean more than words can express. I need that support more than ever, and I am slowly learning that it’s okay to ask for it. This journey isn’t over, and I know there will be more challenges ahead. But with your help and with a focus on small steps forward, I believe there’s a path to a brighter place. Thank you for being a part of my story.