This may be a dark post-- an angry post. Like that ugly picture which makes perfect sense to me. But I cannot paint this topic in pretty colors; I can paint it in black. I hate addiction. I despise it. In all of its forms. Addiction is insidious. It sneaks up on you slowly and with intent. Before you can pull away it's already walking beside you: walking beside you even though you want to run the hell away. Yes, I am describing addiction abstractly because its tremendously hard for me to put words to that which nearly killed me. And that which does the same to many people struggling with it. It's not for the faint of heart--not when it can stop your heart.

Its 6:59 on Thursday morning. I've been drinking coffee and procrastinating online for an hour; the radio is always on and I don't usually hear it. I just like background noise. That's the hyperactive part of me. More than one thing always needs to be happening. It's pretty irritating.

Mental Illness and relapse go hand in hand. Sort of like addiction and relapse. The statistics for both are rather dire: relapse, at some point in our recovery, often occurs. Having said that, there are some damn lucky folks who become stabilized and never become unstable again. I hope they recognize how lucky--how blessed--they are. But in this post we are not talking about those who live a life of sustained recovery. We are focusing on those of us who falter from time to time--falter and pick ourselves back up. The majority of us.

My last blog focused on the importance of not diagnosing your mental health symptoms yourself! This blog will focus on not treating symptoms of relapse without consulting with your mental health care team first. Yes, I know, this post might seem a little boring but it's important so please keep reading--note: you can leave me a comment stating you fell asleep around 300 words. I will refrain from being offended.

When you live with a chronic mental illness you may experience periods of relapse. Side-note: Not everyone who lives with a mental illness relapses but for those of us who do, the desire to diagnose ourselves and, in connection, attempt to treat our symptoms is tempting. And it is exceptionally dangerous.

I feel like I am doing a lot of apologizing lately. I am sick of saying: "I am sorry", "Sorry, I did not mean it", "Please forgive me" or this one is creative: "Please, let me steam clean your carpets because I am oh so sorry I called you a choice word when we were fighting...Did you need to borrow any money? Like my new leather boots? Take them. Because, dammit, I am so sorry!"

When I think of mental illness--my journey sprinting through life alongside it-- I think of the image below. The famous Two Masks. I painted a picture of it, framed it, and gave it to my mother a couple of years ago. The irony was not lost on her. It hangs in the hallway; laughing at me. The masks represent bipolar disorder to me. They represent emotion on a whole--the entire spectrum. Like many people living with chronic mental illness, it's hard to find the parts that define the middle; the sort of happy bits that made us smile but were fleeting.

Once a person has been diagnosed with a mental illness--is being treated for it--and moving forward in their recovery, life is not suddenly peaches and cream. For many of us, myself included, we still often live with depression on a daily basis.

I think I talk about stress and the impact it can have on our mental health often in this blog. Hopefully, it's not exceedingly boring. This blog is a bit different in topic. Yes, it focuses of taking care of ourselves during periods of stress, but also on how we can take care of those we love if they become ill---while knowing when to pull back.

So is recovering from a physical injury. But in a different way. You know this and I know this. A broken leg--I've had one--left me in bed and hopping with one foot to the fridge. I was terribly bored. If I could have moved, I would have drawn pictures on the walls. Probably with a black sharpie. I was angry! My point? Recovering from mental illness can be boring---certainly when our lives used to be painted in manic colors--nice and neon but scary too. Sometimes, downright terrifying.