I touched on reconciling with relapse in my post, Flashbacks and The Fear of Relapse, but there is a lot more to mental health recovery than a single post can cover. An entire book spanning thousands of pages cannot describe the fear associated with relapse. Reconciling with the possibility of mental illness relapse is a difficult task.

Recovering from a serious mental illness can seem impossible, insurmountable at times, and frightening as well.  Because I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of twelve, drugs and alcohol became a way in which I worked to forget about the diagnosis and self-medicate it.

In the past, I wondered if a new partner would love me after knowing I had a mental illness. Of course, it is not a topic you disclose when you first meet someone: having dinner together, or watching a movie. It is probably not something you talk about three weeks later, but living with a mental illness is something that needs to be discussed.

When I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, despite my young age, I was told that I would need to take medication. Probably for the rest of my life. I wondered, as many people do, if medication would change me. Sure, I was told it would make me well and make my life easier, but I was not sure what that really meant. Would I still be me?

When you are in the process of recovering from a chronic mental illness, when you have achieved a state of remission and are free from psychiatric symptoms, you will never forget the impact, the memories, of when you were sick. The flashbacks.

Mental illness is chronic in nature. It is, by its very definition, a disease. I, like many other people who struggle with mental illness, have a hard time digesting and accepting the words chronic and disease. A person with a disease is sick. A person with a chronic disease is consistently sick. Does Having a Chronic Mental Illness Mean That I am Sick? Yes, and no. An example: if you have bipolar disorder you have a chronic illness but if you are in recovery, the mental illness is in remission. You are then considered well; the illness remains but you are free of symptoms or they are drastically reduced.

In late September, the clouds replace the sunshine and summer becomes fall. The dates differ depending on where you live, but the impact on those who struggle with seasonal affective disorder (SAD), aka seasonal depression, are often felt before the date determines it.

I am blessed with fantastic and supportive relationships in my family. When I was twelve years old and in the children's psychiatric hospital, my parents and siblings would visit whenever they could.  They brought me chocolate and teddy bears, tears and promises that I would be home soon. But bipolar disorder, or any mental illness really, can either destroy relationships or enhance them. And that's okay. Let some relationships go, and make sure you keep the supportive relationships.

The word recovery is often socially defined as the achievement of health after a period of illness. Recovery is thought to be consistent and often connected to a physical illness. Recovery, when connected to a chronic mental illness, is different; the word itself holds more weight. The process from sickness to health is not absolute in nature. It is transient, and can change with the seasons or be triggered by life events.

I was watching TV last night, absentmindedly flipping through the stations, when I settled on an advertisement for Seroquel. The woman in the commercial is flying a kite. She is laughing without abandon. The sun shines just for her and a border collie stands beside her; he smiles with his eyes and wagging tail. In sum: she looks like she just won the lottery. And maybe she has: it seems that Seroquel has made her well. She can fly kites now. Bravo.