This the script with no in fade.
This the tale with no once upon a time.
This the story with no true start,
the story of my grueling climb.
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I had not - for so, so long - been fully sane
and would not feel fully sane for far longer.
I was not yet able to take a drink
when I first heard Death’s frightful song
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It was my final year of college -
or the final it was supposed to be -
When my illness sank its fangs into my head.
When the mania nearly meant the end of me.
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Problems lay dormant for decades
and troubled me when I needed peace most.
At the age when I’d normally be dating,
it seemed as if solitude was to be my perpetual post.
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I had not been happy for some months
but always thought I was just lonely.
I was evading any treatment and concern,
all the while growing ghastly.
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I left school with just three courses left
to find my peace at home.
Much to my chagrin,
every problem and symptom still shone.
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I once again tried to ignore them
and tried to hide myself away.
I threw myself into games and drugs,
anything to push pain to the fray.
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It worked for a few weeks,
but as soon as I was alone it ended.
I was thrown back into despair,
confident my use had been expended.
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With no hope left for the future,
I set out to die by rope.
The only pause was for my mother
but I was too far down the *****.
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Luckily, the rope lost its hold on me
shortly after I passed out.
I woke up on the floor - knot still around me -
and was apathetic towards this rout.
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Upon awakening the next day,
I decided I should finally find help.
My lack of regret seemed strange,
and motivated me to - finally - pursue my health.
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Through a painful, month-long process
I found the answers I so desperately needed.
Bipolar was - and still is - shocking.
I had no idea how deep its fangs were truly seeded.
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I may be back in the real world now,
but my recovery is not over.
I have my answers and the medicine to heal me
but I’m still haunted by the things that were.
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I will continue to work for a better tomorrow.
I will continue helping those like me.
I will forget the things that were
and take joy in things yet to be.
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To my brothers and sisters in pain:
You are not alone and your illness is not you.
I know you feel forlorn,
but your health you must pursue.
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It is never easy for us to seek help,
our problems we think can solve themselves.
It is okay to find support.
We must stop retreating into our shells.
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The more of us that open up,
the less of us that feel alone.
We all have similar issues
and only we can let health be sown.
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Love your brothers. Love your sisters.
Love your enemies. Love your neighbors.
But please - above all else -
Love yourselves.