I recently messaged a guy I went to school with via Facebook in hopes that he could give me some insight as to how to adjust to my new lifestyle a little better. A year ago he lost a leg in an automobile accident. When I think of my ailment, I often compare it to losing a limb. He looks like he’s so well adjusted to his new life that I thought maybe he’d have some good advice on how to cope with something that’s out of your control.
Maybe it’s because he’s a man, or maybe it’s because he didn’t understand me, but all he had to say was “I try not to let it get me down.”
Damn why didn’t I think of that?
So I realize that it is different. When you lose a limb, I suppose you are given a baseline of sorts, a place that you can build upon and know that you will never be back in that hospital bed saying “FUCK! I Lost a leg!?”.
I don’t know about you fellow bipolar sufferers, but I feel like I’m always ending up back in that hospital bed saying “FUCK! I lost my mind!?”
It is always possible for us to end up back there, back at the beginning.