I’ve been through a lot of horrible things in life – constant moves when younger (then constant changes to the living room), the abuse, lacking parenting, bullying, then the mental illness. Yet, I’ve survived.
I did want to end things one night, though.
I don’t know where this ability to push on comes from. I know a lot of it came through unhealthy coping mechanisms (hi, my addiction), but there’s this stoicism that gets me from crawling by to getting back up on my feet.
I don’t have any strategies to share – while I can’t wrap my head around CBT, EMDR helped with the PTSD, the bipolar gives me a whimsical side that’s at least under control, thank meds.
But having been through the depths of despair, I don’t feel I should be perpetually saddened or nihilistic, still getting the feelings but redirecting it into positive steps.
It is ongoing. I’ll be on meds, in recovery, most likely going to counselling for the rest of my life, just to remain functional without crippling depression or having another manic episode, but it’s okay that I’m not okay.
Ever since I heard the words, “Love your neighbour as you love yourself,” I knew it meant everyone.
Coming across the Parable of the Good Samaritan, and the answer that loving is showing mercy, I’ve asked why there are Christians who don’t live by this towards queer people.
Catch my Sunday post, Go and Do The Same.
T.M. Shannon 
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