Ten years ago yesterday, I reached a breaking point. I was out of control on the wrong mixture of mood-stabilizing drugs. I was out of control, period. Ten years ago yesterday, I landed in a hospital that I never had any intention of visiting. Ten years ago today, I woke up and realized I wanted to continue waking up every day of my life.
Today is Easter, a day of rebirth and forgiveness and promise. The fact that it coincides with my personal anniversary is… what’s the word? Special? Heavy? Wonderful. I struggle with Easter – the Passion of Christ seems more pageantry than fact. When we started going back to church last fall, I had a moment of personal truth – God loved us so, he gave his only son. As I held my precious daughter in my arms, I thought of all the things I would sacrifice, kill, heal for her. The thought of offering her up for harm – it caught me off guard to even fathom that type of love.
I am fierce; He is fiercer.
I still cannot believe I survived. I survived to get better, to be the woman I was meant to be – at least, I’m on the way there. At the time, I thought it was all on my own pluck and the support of my family. I had no idea I was so beloved by God. The ten year mark is important in my life. The odds of living ten years without an episode of manic depression is low. I’m the girl who can’t get life insurance, and yet here I am – ten years later. Healthy. Sane. Happy. I don’t usually share this story, but today of all days – on Easter – it feels like a rebirth for me. Ten years, folks. A decade of confidence that I can depend on, build on, and continue.