It's time to be real people. I've openly talked about my bipolar depression before, but I feel a need to write about it today. The last couple of days have been what I call "low days". That's my way of telling my husband that things will most likely not get done around the house. Though I am getting better about forcing myself to run errands or do a few loads of laundry, even though I really just want to crawl in bed and sleep. Some days it's all I can do to function. And I take medication daily so imagine if I didn't. It's supposed to help with the chemical imbalance in my brain so that I have "normal" highs and lows. Honestly, if I could be guaranteed that I would be manic most of the time, I probably wouldn't take medication. Unfortunately, without medication, I mostly suffer from the depression part. Most of the time I'm okay. But then there are days like yesterday and today where I feel sucky for no reason. That's one thing I think is difficult for people who don't suffer from mental illness to understand. They think there needs to be a reason you are depressed or have anxiety. Like, what happened and how can you fix it? I wish that were the case. But I have no reason. I just feel sucky. Or if I don't feel like I am in control of a situation, I have a panic attack and lose my crap. The sun was out yesterday and it was warm, so I took my laptop in the backyard and edited my latest book. That does make me feel good, but I still don't want to do anything else. I have to actually force myself to do stuff. Today I'm editing and writing a bit too, but I'm stuck on the conflict in the story.

Anyway, in my eyes, mental health is just as important, if not more so, than your physical health. In fact, it can affect your physical health. I am open about my disease because some people out there are ashamed of their mental health issues. Some people might not realize they even have an issue. The more we talk about it, the more people can seek help. I was only diagnosed about nine years ago. When the doctor explained it to me and gave me my diagnosis, I was like, "Holy crap, my whole life I've been sick and thought I was just seriously messed up and unloveable." I thought it was just my personality. When I finally had a name for it, I felt so much relief. I have a child who was diagnosed a couple of years ago with bipolar depression and ADHD. He has improved much since he has been taking medication. Luckily, I was able to recognize the signs because of my own diagnosis. I know teens have many ups and downs, but if you are concerned at all, talk to your child. Sometimes they aren't huge on talking, but make them talk to you. Are they isolating themselves? Are their moods more extreme? Do they get super chatty and spastic and then seem so low they won't leave the house or their room? Only six percent of children with a parent with bipolar disorder will actually develop the disease, but it's better to be vigilant in my opinion. But lucky me, my dad and brother both suffer and now I've passed it on to my child.

But I will not be ashamed. I will not hide from it. It is who God created me to be and it's not in my control. It has made me stronger. I know I can do hard things. I know someday when I leave this life, my body will be made perfect, that includes my broken brain. And just because my brain is broken, does not mean I am broken. It does not mean I am not worthy of love. It does not mean I don't belong. And so, I am here for you people. I got you. I feel you. I understand you. And you are great just the way you are, broken brain and all.