A Beautiful Life

My belief. My story.

I've lived through emotional and physical abuse.
I've lived through rape.
I've lived through depression and self-harm.
I'm living with chronic illness--chronic migraine, depression, and anxiety.

You can let it break you down, or you can keep going. I used to say you can overcome it, but I've since learned (thanks, chronic illness) that some things can't be overcome. They CAN be gotten through, lived with, and we can live in SPITE of them, though.

Some days are harder than others, no matter what you're going through. Some days I'm a quitter. Some days I give up. But there's always a new day and a new chance to reach inside yourself for that spark that keeps you going.

"It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters."
Epictetus

I've found this to be true, whether it's what has been done to you or just what life throws at you.  Bad things happen. Horrible, unjustified things happen. Things or people scar you and wound you. You can't always control what happens to you. But you can control what you DO with what happens to you.

You can chose to let it make you do bad things, to give up on life, to be frightened of life, and/or be bitter.
Or you can chose to let it make you compassionate to others going through it, a fighter, and/or a victor.

Don't get me wrong. I've chosen the first set of options before. I've hurt people and done things I knew were wrong. I've lived in fear of getting close to others and in fear of betrayal. I've lived in fear of myself, and with anger of epic proportion. I've lived without caring if anyone cared for me or about what I did.

I've learned that it hurts you more than anyone else to live that way. It keeps you tied to those hurts and those who hurt you. It gives them the power to keep controlling you and your choices.
Plain and simply, what it is IS giving up control and responsibility of your own life.

It's why I eventually came to choose the latter options.

It's not easy, but it IS worth it. It can become beautiful.

On Depression and Losing My Childhood Icons

I haven't done a new post in a while--I've been fighting monsters.

No, really.
I've been fighting my daily chronic migraine without meds for a month, and it's been really an exercise in willpower to find reasons to keep fighting while I wait (and wait and wait) to hear anything on my application for disability.

Depression has been my constant companion lately, and the death of yet another of my childhood and adult heroes has affected me deeply.

Carrie Fisher was the princess we girls needed in the late 70s and early 80s--a tough, take no shit lady with a vulnerable side. As an adult, her openness and advocacy for mental health has been amazing and a role model for my own advocacy.
Her death on top of the loss of so many other pieces of my childhood has left me reeling.

It's also made me think (scary, I know)--why do the deaths of my childhood icons affect me so profoundly?

Because they've been a part of the many lives I've lived. Imaginary lives, but still...I've been a Rebel Princess, a warrior princess, a crime fighting "angel," an amazon princess, a smart arse teenager with a stolen baby sister..I've been in a galaxy far, far away, in the Labyrinth fighting a goblin king, and my own house simultaneously. I've fought with lightsabers, blasters, a lasso of truth, my fists, and my wits. I've journeyed Middle-earth and Narnia. I've been a wizard, a mutant, an elf, a hobbit...all before second breakfast.
I've been a glittery rock star and a soulful crooner (not for an audience, thankfully). I've sworn to never dance again the way I danced with a good friend.

But mostly, I lived and dreamed and breathed through other characters when I was a kid still trying to find out who I was and who I would be.

The people who brought to life all those pieces of me...have been pieces of me. They've given me heroes and adversaries worthy of them. They gave me an escape when I needed one, sang to my soul, and gave me the courage to become me in all my many facets.

I mourn what they were to me and the loss of the people they were in their own lives.

Rest in peace, Carrie. You are one with the Force now. Thank you for all you gave me.

Tired Of Being Sick And Tired -- The Chronic Migraine Merry-go-round

Chronic illness is for life.
That's the hardest part of it, I think--knowing that there isn't a light at the end of the tunnel, and if one should appear, it's probably a freight train.

When one has a cold, flu, or infection, you know that no matter how miserable it is, there's an end. It will go away.

Chronic illness doesn't go away.
It may be treatable...but treatable doesn't equal better or even feeling relatively normal.
It's like luggage. Ugly luggage that you didn't even get to pick out and have to drag everywhere.

As much as I hate taking medications...it's even worse not having them to take on a regular basis.
My sleep schedule is a mess and I think my body thinks afternoons are mornings now--mornings were the worst pain/symptom time of my days and now it's afternoon/evening.
Botox downswing is hell...but even more hell is knowing I can't get my next treatment.  

Sick of being sick.
Sick of talking about being sick.
Sick of knowing others are sick of hearing about it.
Sick of it being my day to day and having little else to talk about.
Sick of knowing it's for life.

Sick of being in the gray area of waiting and wondering when the next time I can get relief will be.
This is hard. Harder because I've had treatment for a while and now it's gone.

I don't know how I did this before. Maybe not ever having options before was better, or at least easier to deal with because I didn't have that hope before.

All I know is it's so damn hard to exist these days and to be okay with it. So hard to act like myself. So hard to care. So hard that no one around me really understands why it's so hard and I can't just deal with it and move on.

And I can't understand how I can be expected to deal with it and move on while I have to haul this luggage 24/7, 365.

It's there in the shower. It's there hanging on me while I'm doing dishes, getting dressed, eating...it wakes me up when I sleep or keeps me awake.

No one else can see it weighing me down, but I feel it with every breath I take.

It confines me. It smothers me. It sucks my energy and my enjoyment of life.

Chronic illness is for life--but it isn't so much a life as it is a life sentence without any possibility of parole.

I know I can get through life...but I don't have to like it. I don't have to smile and put on my happy face. I don't have to pretend for anyone else's comfort while I serve my time.

I just have to keep breathing.
But sometimes that just doesn't feel like enough.

Health Care is a Luxury For Too Many

Many people would deny this, but health care is a luxury.

Ask the legions of chronically ill and disabled, who fall in between being unable to work but not considered disabled "enough" to qualify for disability.

Ask the ones who are having to depend on someone to support them and for whom that single income isn't enough to cover doctor visits, much less treatment and meditation to manage their disease/disorder.

Ask those with a life-threatening illness that can't afford care...even with insurance.

Ask the single parents who provide for their kids but don't have enough to provide for themselves.

Many people would say health care is a necessity.

Obviously, many people don't consider it one, though.
People like me are supposed to suffer in silence or have the decency to die quietly so they aren't a drain on the system.

Health care is a luxury.
Pain relief is too dangerous to trust us with.
Consistent treatment is non existent to many of us.

I'm tired of suffering in silence and I'm not going to die quietly. 

Im going to point out the uncomfortable truths about life with chronic illness until I'm six feet under.

For two years, I was on state medical assistance...in October of this year, I was informed during a renewal interview that I didn't qualify. Even *better*--the fact that I'd been receiving assistance at all was due to an agency error.

A two year agency error. Thousands of dollars in treatment and medication that I'd never been entitled to. The supervisor I spoke to was quick to reassure me that because I wasn't at fault, "at least you won't have to pay it back and you didn't defraud the government."

Honestly, those were pluses, but also were and are the least of my concerns. High on my list of concerns was, "the treatment that has been giving me marginal improvement is no longer an option for me." 

Because even marginal improvement is a big deal when you live with chronic illness. Marginal improvement meant a few days a month that I could play with grandspawn, visit family, cook dinner for my family...those few days were days I hadn't had in over a year.

I am still receiving mental health care through a different government program (MHMR), thankfully. Antidepressants are not something it is safe to stop suddenly, but more than that, they literally keep me alive. My antidepressant is currently the only medication I'm on. 

I've applied for disability and SSI (I did so the day after my devastating news that my Medicaid coverage was a two year error), but waiting to hear a verdict can be a long process--as long as 5 months, occasionally as short as 3. That isn't counting the appeal process if I'm denied disability, and chronic migraine is often very hard to qualify for. In Texas, only about 33% of applications for disability are approved. The number of disability applications approved for chronic migraine is much lower.

So I wait. 

And while I wait...I suffer. 

But not in silence. Not any more, not ever. Both for myself and the others who are weathering the same storm, I raise my voice. 

When Just Existing is Hard, I Remember This

Today is hard, but I’m trying.

Today, the physical pain of my illness is keeping me from moving much, and the depression I feel over that is a constant thorn in my side.

But I’m trying.

Some days are good, some are bad, and some are worse. Logically, I know this. I know this from experience. But somehow it doesn’t always make it easier.

It’s not the physical pain that’s the worst. It’s the mental and emotional pain that goes with it.

It’s not trying to get through the things that need doing; it’s trying not to do them that is the struggle. There is a counter piled with dirty dishes and we have no clean spoons. The cat litter needs changed. I have an appointment that needs to be rescheduled, but the thought of talking on the phone when my migraine is screaming means it won’t be done today.

I have limits that my body and my illness has set for a reason, I remind myself. Pushing past them is a very bad idea.

I know this… but I still feel the weight of the things that need doing like a physical pull. And fighting the guilt for not doing them exhausting.

But I’m trying.

I’m trying to smile at the people and things I love.

I’d rather be crying, or raging at my limits, or both. I’d rather be curled up under my blanket avoiding them, but I’ve learned that this isn’t good for me, either, because the depression that is sinking its greedy claws into me is just waiting to isolate me and make me feel alone and hopeless.

It’s hard to fight its whispers, but I’m trying.

Today it is hard to exist.

You’d think that it would be easy to just breathe, wouldn’t you? To just let it all go when the pain digs into my brain and even thinking is hard…but it isn’t. Just breathing feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and thoughts are running through my brain like manic mice.

Existing is hard, but I’m trying.

I’m holding on to the world by the skin of my teeth today. I’m remembering that there are good days, even if I can’t see them. I’m reminding myself that I still do good things, even if today I don’t feel good enough.

Today is hard, but I’m trying.

And for now, that is enough.

(Originally published on The Mighty. See my author page and other published articles here.)

Acceptance VS Giving Up -- A Big Difference

Acceptance.

It’s a dirty word.

The world tells us not to accept our limitations, not to accept no for an answer, that all things can be conquered and beaten if we push hard enough, and that those who overcome their limits are an inspiration to others.

The world is sometimes wrong.

Sometimes, limitations are what keeps us alive. Sometimes, taking no for an answer is necessary. Sometimes, there are things that can’t be conquered or beaten, but simply lived with. Sometimes, the inspiration we need isn’t the person who beats the odds, but the one who handles accepting them with grace… or who accepts it at all.

Disability and chronic illness can be all of those things, but acceptance is seen all too often as giving up.

It’s not.

After four years of living with chronic migraine disorder, four years of daily pain and a plethora of other neurological symptoms, and four years of trying find my limits and exceed them, I’m just now learning what I thought I already knew: that acceptance of my new normal and new reality is necessary to function as well as I can.

That it isn’t giving up — it’s what I need to keep fighting. If I expend all my energy trying to fight and overcome an incurable disorder, I’m wasting my precious time on something that is a pipe dream. I’m wasting my good days on something I’ll never attain instead of living for the good moments. I’m not able to make realistic judgments about my care and treatments if I am fighting my reality.

And worst of all, when I continually push myself past my limits, I’m not accomplishing anything except exacerbating my pain and other symptoms, which results in fewer good days or moments.

It’s not a one-time deal, it’s a continuous process. Over the years, I’ve developed new symptoms, some of them rather scary. And it’s normal to be scared or have trouble accepting these new things and new limits — and some days I will fail at it. Some days, all I’ll see is my limits, and some days, all I’ll find is sadness or anger at them.

Failing at it some days is not the end of the world, even when it feels like it.

Every day is a new chance and a new learning experience. I’m still learning ways to accept my new normal — counting the blessings I still have, using my experiences to reach out to others, realizing that acceptance is healthier than denial, and that it’s OK to admit I’m struggling.

I can still be happy on most days even if I’m not being a poster child for for trying to overcome my disorder.

The only thing I really need to overcome is my own preconceived ideas of the advocate/fighter/hero/example to others I feel I “should” be… and my expectations of myself are a lot higher (and sometimes less rational) than what others expect of me.

Acceptance is not easy, but it’s not a dirty word. Sometimes, it is the saving grace you need.

I will be OK, because I can accept my new normal, over and over again if need be, as hard as it may be.

And so will you.

( Originally published on Chronic Illness on The Mighty. See my author page and other published articles here. )

Why I Don't Hide My Illness Any More

The Pretender Mask.

The smile that hides the pain.

The “I’m fine!” on days we definitely are not fine.

The tough I’ve-got-this front when we’re falling apart inside.

Everyone I know with a chronic illness has been behind the Pretender Mask.

Sometimes, it’s because we don’t want to explain our illness yet again. It’s exhausting, especially when the illness is one that doesn’t show on the outside. Invisible illness often leaves us feeling as if we have to validate it. We look fine, so how can we be that sick?

Sometimes, it’s because we don’t want others to worry, or maybe because we just want to be “normal” for a little while. That cashier doesn’t know us — to her we can be just another person, not the sick one. We won’t be interacting with her long enough that she has to see how not OK we really feel as we smile and make small talk.

And sometimes, it’s because we can’t admit to ourselves that we won’t be able to kick this thing’s figurative ass. Oh, we can fight it, yes. But the sad truth for many of us is that’s all we can do.

And it’s hard to accept that. It’s terrifying.

I wore it for over a year, that Pretender’s Mask.

A year or so of acting tough and telling my friends I would be OK, I was going to get better, I’d find that magical treatment.

I’d kick its ass.

I was terrified. I still am. And every time a new symptom crops up or the pain derails my day and confines me, I get terrified all over again.

I haven’t given up hope for a treatment that will help. But now I know and admit to myself that’s all it will do — help. I’ll still probably be disabled and not have a “normal” life (not that I’ve ever been “normal,” anyway).

And for some people, that’s off-putting. They see it as giving up, as settling for less.

It’s lost me friends.

And that hurts.

But what it is is being real and being realistic. I try to be optimistically realistic, and I usually succeed.

And I’m not pretending any more.

Not for anyone.

I won’t shove my disorder under a blanket to fit in someone else’s comfort zone — even my own comfort zone.

That’s a luxury I don’t have anymore.

I’m a fighter. It’s what I do. And I can’t fight something that I’m hiding.

(Originally published on The Mighty. See my author page and other published articles here.)

The Price of a Good Day

 (Photo- at the Texas Renaissance Festival with family.)

The saying "everything has a price" is seldom more relevant to me than after a "good" day--meaning a day I feel well enough or am medicated enough to do something fun or normal.
Even if the day or activity itself goes off without a hitch, it's still something that is beyond what my body is usually capable of, and much like a healthy person, there is a price to be paid for that. Unlike a healthy person, the cost is considerably higher for me in a multitude of ways.

I call it the Aftercrash.
Doctors call it the Let-down Effect  --"In the immediate aftermath of stressful times -- perhaps following an anxiety-producing project at work or a major family crisis -- when you finally have time to take a deep breath and unwind, that's when illness can unexpectedly strike. Just when you're letting down your hair, your ability to fight off illnesses may let you down.
"This effect has been associated with conditions such as upper respiratory infections, the flu, migraine headaches, dermatitis, arthritis pain, and depression," says Schoen, a psychologist and assistant clinical professor of medicine at UCLA."

Whatever you call it, it strikes with a vengeance when you often think the worst is past or that you've gotten off easy, and even good stress (yes, that's a thing) and excitement can bring on an episode. Chronic illness and chronic pain sufferers are very susceptible to the Aftercrash and the havoc it wreaks for anything from a small outing to a major event.

We all have our limits that our bodies say "okay, that's enough" to, even if we're in perfect health. Society praises those who excel beyond the limits and push themselves despite them, and we with chronic illnesses do this very regularly even though it's sometimes detrimental to us. We are the don't-quit poster children, it seems, trying to still do it all while smiling through the pain.

And while I believe acceptance and knowing our limits is very important--limits can keep us alive, after all--that's a subject for another post, because today I'm embracing the aftercrash.
Yes, you read that correctly. I'm celebrating it.

I'm celebrating the pain that is too much today even while I practice self care and recover, because it means I didn't just exist for a day, I LIVED, despite knowing it would cost me.

The world of chronic illness is frequently a balancing act spent weighing the consequences of doing something that means we may not be capable of something else. Even a shower is a planned activity for us that can sap us enough to make it our only activity of the day. And knowing these crashes are coming or likely and what may bring them on is an all-important key to navigating our lives.

Sometimes we let that knowledge that the aftercrash is coming prevent us from doing something we want to do...we let the fear of what's coming stop us from living in the now. And some days our illness just plain wins.
But some things, days, or even moments are worth it...because otherwise we wouldn't have the good memories to balance out the bad, unbearable days.

For those moments, we have lived without fear. We didn't let our illness keep us from the moments that matter.

And that is sometimes a price worth its weight in gold.

4 Real Ways Stigma Affects Us All

To be honest, I never really realized how much stigma affects so many of us until I became chronically ill.

"Who cares what others think? Just let it roll off."

That was pretty much my attitude about it...this despite the fact that my kids struggled with mental illness and I devoted years advocating for them and that I've faced prejudices about being a suicide attempt survivor and that I used to self-harm.

"Sure, it's annoying and sometimes hurts your feelings...but it's not like it's physically harmful."

WRONG.

I've learned better. Here are some ways stigmas can actually cause both physical and mental harm.

1. INADEQUATE TREATMENT.

Where to start with this one? Stigmas can lead to a person not receiving proper care...both from medical professionals who have absorbed and harbor the ideas that pain patients are drug seekers, that mental illnesses are not "real" illnesses, and that some disorders don't "actually exist," and from ourselves internalizing these ideas and being afraid to seek care for fear of being stigmatized or believing what we've heard--it's a weakness/character flaw, we can push through it/think ourselves happy/don't have a real problem/are imagining it/others have it worse.

Yes, this is so pervasive that this is a reality. And whether it's depression or another chronic illness, we can literally risk our health and our lives by not seeking treatment.

2. LACK OF REAL AWARENESS.

Number one leads into this so well. What does awareness matter? What does lack of awareness affect?
Well...everything.
When the facts of a disorder/illness are distorted or unknown, we face judgment from the uneducated, misinformed, and even ourselves, for one.

Lack of awareness affects research funding...which affects available treatment or whether doctors even know how to treat our illness (not every doctor is an expert;  far from it). Many medical students do not choose a specialty that isn't well funded research-wise. Before you judge them harshly for that, think of how hard it would be to spend years of your life not being able to actually help do more than a drop in the bucket for your patients--not to be able to offer hope for a cure or even a treatment that will make a noticeable difference. I've been lucky enough to have some doctors this truly bothers and who have confided that it IS discouraging for them as well as for their patients.

3. DISCRIMINATION and RECRIMINATION.

This is alive and well; although we as a society have become more accepting and accessible, we also have a lot of misconceptions about what is a "real" disability...and many have no qualms about holding forth on it to those that don't fit their ideas of it.

A friend of mine came under attack on her chronic migraine blog recently from a gentleman (I use the term loosely) who had these choice comments:

"He said on an image that said 'Pain doesn't go away, you just make room for it'...Get off your phat ass an live with it, just like everyone else!'

On an article about depression... 'There you have it, it's psychological. Now go see a good therapist and get back to work, you shirking POS.'

On an image that said 'My pain is invisible but I am not': cry me an 'effin river you whiney douchebag.'

On image that said 'stuck between Hell and Hope.' : 'You want to know what hell is? It's listening to you vapid brainless bloggers run on about your "pain" and every little ache you have. Don't eat like a pig, eat healthily, do some freakin' exercises, and then get a job and pay back this country for all the down-time you've gotten and sucking off the workmen's compensation, SSI and SSDI funding. Parasites!'

See the full post on Brainless Blogger here.

Many of us with chronic health issues have had these sort of comments fired at us, even from some family and "friends." Some are more subtle, some are outright derision. On top of health issues and the guilt we already feel, these kind of remarks can be horribly painful...and the fact is, many people truly believe them, especially when one's disease is "invisible."

These are kinds of people who vote to cut welfare and disability assistance or make them harder to qualify for on the rationalization that anyone who doesn't "look sick" is a scammer or leaching tax dollars from those who "really need it" and are "legitimately disabled." The sad part is that some of them are disabled themselves and judge others on whether they're "as badly off."

4. INTERNALIZING STIGMA.

This is a big one and ties into lack of awareness and not practicing self care.
It exacerbates the depression, anxiety, and low self esteem that often goes hand in hand with chronic illnesses, as well as perpetuating the feeling that we shouldn't talk about it.
If your chronic illness(es) are mental health disorder(s), this is really pervasive and can be extremely detrimental.

What can we do about stigmas?

Sometimes nothing...some people will feel this way no matter how much we attempt to educate and sway them, and that's the hard part that can discourage us.
Sometimes it's just more self productive to walk away from those toxic people who damage us and try to make us feel at fault.

But awareness is the single most effective way to combat stigma, and those who the message we spread reaches are the the ones who matter most. Don't waste time on toxic people...but don't let them stop you from advocating for yourself.

And please, don't let them stop you from taking care of you.

About Me

Introductions are always the hardest when you write them about yourself--how do you sum up yourself without sounding either pretentious, self-deprecating, or boring? 

I'm a mom of four, a grandma of four adorable grandspawns, a daughter, a sister, an animal lover with 16 outside cats (9 are kittens), two inside cats (I know, crazy cat lady, that's me), two box turtles, and a huge German Shepherd slobber machine. Most of our pets are rescues. 

I love rock and alternative music, I write poetry, I am an artist, and I advocate for awareness of mental illness, chronic migraine/chronic pain, and domestic violence. I write articles on occasion for The Mighty  .

I am also one of the approximately 25% of migraineurs in America who suffer from chronic migraine, defined as 15 or more days of migraine symptoms/pain per month; at best, it's like taking half a month and throwing it in the trash, and for me the symptomatic days number higher.

Understand that this is WITH treatment from my primary care doctor and a specialist; daily chronic migraine in particular is just very hard to treat (if you've found this blog, you probably know that already). Part of the problem is that we still don't know much about migraine; although it's ranked as the seventh highest cause of disability worldwide- as disabling as quadriplegia, active psychosis, and dementia, according to the World Health Organization- migraine receives less than 53 cents per person in allocated research funding. That's much lower than many serious conditions. 

For me, this condition is truly disabling--since 5 years ago when my episodic migraines progressed to chronic daily (that's 24/7, 365 with a baseline of symptoms/pain that never leave), I've dealt with job loss, loss of time with family, loss of health insurance, having to give up going back to college, losing people I thought were friends who just don't think my disorder is truly serious or for whom someone with chronic illness just doesn't fit into their lives, and the grief of losing who I thought I was and the life I had.

One of the challenges I face isn't physical; it comes from outside sources, from people who don't understand this condition. Sometimes, people assume that I am still struggling because I'm not motivated enough to find proper treatment.  However, it isn't as simple as just calling your nearest neurologist.  Most people think a neurologist is an expert on headache disorders, but not all neurologists are migraine specialists, and not all headache specialists are neurologists. Unfortunately, for the 38ish million migraineurs in America, there are only a bit over 500 headache/migraine specialists...which means many migraineurs may not receive an official diagnosis of migraine for years, and may have to travel farther for treatment. The wait to see a specialist can be months. Trying out all the medications used to treat migraine can take years if you aren't lucky enough to find one off the bat. And many migraine sufferers don't ever seek treatment, because the belief that it's just a bad headache is so prevalent that non migraine sufferers aren't the only ones to buy into it. I've talked to many migraineurs who don't know much more about their disease than the general public, either because their doctors aren't knowledgeable about it or because they don't think it's serious enough to seek treatment. 

I was also diagnosed with depressive disorder 2 years ago, which is very common with any chronic illness, particularly a disabling one. In the right circumstances, most people would expect some degree of depression... for example, when a person with a life-limiting illness who has few options for relief cannot see an end to the pain. People might even consider it odd if that person DIDN'T suffer from depression.

But although living with chronic migraine is what brought me to being diagnosed, I've lived with depression most of my life, much of it in denial that I WAS depressed. It was very easy to write off my dark spells as reactions to situations in my life...growing up with an abusive father, an abusive marriage, raising 2 kids who are diagnosed with mental illnesses themselves, stress, etc. However, my reasoning was pretty selective, because it conveniently failed to explore the fact that I self-harmed from my teens into my late twenties, as well as a suicide attempt at age 19 that was very nearly successful. 

But when the Chronic Migraine Fairy arrived, I couldn't distract myself with the problems and people in my life anymore; I had to accept that they weren't solely responsible for those dark emotions and trips down the rabbit hole, as I call it (hence the name of this blog). And as my antidepressant medication brought me to a more stable place, I realized that clinical depression is different than being extremely sad over a situation....and that the dark places my mind had been were as familiar as an old friend, because I'd been there before. 

Depression lies to us. It tells us our problems aren't important. It tells us we aren't important. And its voice is powerful and persuasive. It can even convince it us it doesn't exist, at least for us.
Many people see mental illness as a character flaw or weakness rather than a disease as real as diabetes, even those of us living with its impact...but it is so important to realize that many mental illnesses have a genetic or physical cause, such as chemical imbalances that regulate mood or affect our thought patterns. 

Seeking help for a mental illness is no more a weakness or character flaw than going to the doctor for a "physical" illness.

The silence surrounding mental health needs to be broken. If you are dangerously depressed or suicidal, it is not weak to get help. It's one of the hardest, bravest things you can do. If you aren't taking advantage of every possible weapon in this fight that may help you cope better (be it therapy or medication or both), you are putting yourself at risk...and you are too loved, needed and important to lose. 

Too often, we with chronic or "invisible" illnesses feel very alone, even with supportive friends and family...because no one who hasn't been down our particular rabbit hole can't truly grasp what we fight every day. 
In writing this blog and sharing my experiences and struggles, I hope to help others feel less alone in this fight.