New perspective

I’ve carried the weight of CPTSD, Bipolar II depression, borderline‑style reactivity, and alcohol use disorder across this entire stretch of my life. My days swing from energized optimism to crushing despair, and my journal documents every rise and fall—moments of resilience and moments when survival feels unsure. This has been the past two years:

Living Inside These Diagnoses

My Bipolar II brings cycles—hypomanic bursts of energy where I overspend, overindulge, and believe I can rebuild my life from scratch in a day, followed by depressive freezes where basic tasks feel impossible. CPTSD keeps me hypervigilant: knocks, slammed doors, sudden noises, barking dogs—all can send my nervous system into alarm. The borderline traits show up most acutely in my relationships—fear of abandonment, emotional spirals when I sense distance, an intensity that both fuels closeness and strains it.

Love, Closeness, and Emotional Fault Lines

My connection with "Renee" is the central emotional gravity of my story. When we are together—at the movies, in each other’s arms, or in simple everyday moments—I feel anchored, alive, hopeful. When we drift apart due to life stressors, exhaustion, or circumstances beyond my control, I feel that distance with painful intensity. She is the person I dream of building a future with, but also the person whose absence can send my mood plummeting. Our love is deep, passionate, often healing—but also fragile under the weight of my fears and her overwhelming life pressures.

My co‑parenting relationship with "Ann", and my love for my children—"Iris and Billy"—remain in the heart of my gratitude. Iris’s tenderness and Billy’s unpredictable three‑year‑old chaos bring light even on the darkest days. At the same time, parenting stress, co‑parenting disputes, and transitions between homes can trigger anxiety, irritability, and emotional overload. Still, nothing grounds me more than those small, glowing moments with them: playing, laughing, or simply being together.

Alcohol, Cannabis, and the Cycles of Recovery

My relationship with alcohol has been a cycle of abstinence, relapse, resolve, and regret. I’ve celebrated sober milestones—weeks, months, — followed by relapses driven by loneliness, heartbreak, or overwhelming stress. Withdrawal periods bring shakes, sweats, nausea, and fear, but each sober restart is meaningful. The pattern is painful, but the fight continues.

With cannabis, I’ve experienced relief and entrapment. It has soothed anxiety and intrusive thoughts, especially after ketamine treatments or during emotional storms. But heavy daily use has drained my energy, clouded my mind, worsened headaches, and contributed to depressive fog. I oscillate between relying on it and resenting its hold.

Therapy, Ketamine, and Healing Work

Therapy with "Tua and Asher" has been critical in helping me examine triggers, patterns, and strategies for emotional stabilization. They’ve helped me articulate goals, confront shame, navigate attachment wounds, and build coping skills. SMART goals, journal reflection, and grounding practices have formed part of that ongoing work.

Ketamine treatments have brought both illumination and heaviness. Some sessions feel mentally unburdening—lightness, clarity, and emotional softening. Others have taken me through unsettling internal landscapes before releasing me into a calmer state. They don’t cure me, but they rebalance something deep within me. My physical symptoms often mirror my mental state—night sweats, nausea, headaches, exhaustion. Still, I continue showing up.

Stability, Money, and Purpose

The uncertainty surrounding finances caused immense anxiety— financial fear, and the panic of not knowing the outcome. Approval brought relief and a sense of legitimacy, even if skepticism lingered at first. It opened the door for planning rather than just surviving.

With that stability, I’ve set my sights on purpose: returning to school to become a Substance Use Disorder Counselor (SUDC). I want to help people who are where I’ve been—lost, hurting, fighting their own minds and addictions. My pain must mean something; service is one way it can.

My Body, My Mind, and the Physical Story of Recovery

My physical health is tightly intertwined with my emotional state. Headaches, nausea, morning sickness during medication imbalance, episodes of extreme fatigue, and even ER visits for back pain all reflect the internal battles I’m fighting. But there are powerful counterweights: the gym, running trails, hikes, sunshine, fresh air, and being outdoors. Even lying in a hammock by a creek helps realign me. Reconnecting with nature has become one of the most healing forces in my life.

Gratitude as a Survival Skill

• Despite the chaos, my journal is filled with gratitude:

• Iris’s joy opening gifts

• Billy’s wild bursts of laughter

• Notes from my kids taped to my door

• Unexpected financial help

• Compliments from strangers

• Quiet evenings of peace after storms

• The feeling of Renee’s presence

• Clean rooms, warm food, small victories

• Moments of spiritual connection

• Deep conversations with friends, who have been a steady comfort through darkness

These small mercies anchor me. They remind me there is still beauty in my life, even when my mind feels bleak.

Where I Am Now

I’m still grinding, I'll always be grinding. This battle never ends, emotional spirals, highs and lows, but you learn how to live. I feel love in my heart and have compassion for those still suffering within the confines of their minds. I know with predictable routines, healthy coping, sober stability, and purpose in helping others realize their best potential, I can achieve my best potential..

I’m not healed.

But I’m still here....