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Feb 5
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
I left school with just three courses left
to find my peace at home.
Much to my chagrin,
every problem and symptom still shone.
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.
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.
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 *****.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Love your brothers. Love your sisters.
Love your enemies. Love your neighbors.
But please - above all else -
Love yourselves.
Written by
Dylan  21/M/North Carolina
(21/M/North Carolina)   
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