I would just like to take up this space to share some thoughts I've been having lately.

For a long time I used to go to bed at night and think "this was a good day" just because the hours had shifted, the night had fallen, and I wasn't feeling like dying. I used to think that I should try to be content with this, I was trying to come to terms with the fact that this was what my life was like, having this disease and that my goal in life was to try and stay sane, stick around for the sake of other people, in other words, make life tolerable.

There were times I thought I even liked my sadness. I thought it was comfortable, cozy, smelling like the warmth of skin, smelling like idleness. I thought the terms of living were different for me, because I have an affliction. I thought my brain and its deformities were right to rule my life, that it was this thing domineering me, that I had no power over. My best solution was to try and not upset it, keep it calm and kind of sluggish, afraid that if I failed it would punish me with all the highlights of it being bipolar, the anxiety, the dysphoria, the suicidal thoughts.

I had even created my own philosophies around my behaviour. I had created philosophies for every tiny aspect of life and the world. I had found my home in pessimism. I thought I was an old soul, too tired, too sophisticated to fight against the current of time. I'm slowly coming to the realization that these were all excuses against the same fear all people have, disordered or not. The fear of trying, fear of failing, fear of changing, fear of living itself.

I'm realizing now, I was just lazy, I lacked will power, I thought taking my pills and hoping for the best with my fingers crossed was enough, that it was all that should be expected from me, since I am sick.

What bull, I think to myself now. Because I'm realizing, the crippling of knowing I have a disorder was greater than the crippling of the disorder itself. In my mind, it was associated with a million problems outside the disorder itself. It distorted my self-image, my subconscious to its very core, making me think I was somehow cursed and doomed to fail at life.

F*** that, I say. Now I know I was just too lazy to really fight, too afraid of the challenge of surpassing my shortcomings and truly advance, become better every day, more enriched, more fearless, more successful in my endeavours, more... happy.

But not anymore. Yes. Getting better is hard f*** work. It's every day. From the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, it's hard work. But I'm up for it. I will fight not just to stay sane, but to better, to set goals and work hard towards them, to always find a way to solve my problems, to take responsibility for my life and stop acting like a ****ing powerless victim. It is up to me. My life is my own. And I have the power to create it, to shape it, to make it what I want. With hard work. With determination. With will power.

My life, is the piece of time I was given on this Earth to enjoy. I will not spend another day of it surrendered.