Less than 24 hours after I’d scooped up my belongings and stepped through the securely locked doors of the mental hospital, I walked into my boss’s office and closed the door. I explained where I’d been the last several days.

“When I said the hospital… I meant the behavioral hospital. I struggle with severe anxiety and depression. It’s nothing new. I’ve been struggling with it much longer than I’ve worked here.”

“But, you’re so,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “happy go lucky.”

Oh yes, there’s no mistake. I’ve struggled with mental illness for over half of my life. I’ve had two suicide attempts and come very close to two more. Some days, it’s just the struggle to get out of bed. Many days, it’s the struggle to keep from hurting myself.

We go everywhere together, the illness and I. Even when I’m in a season of wellness, it still lingers heavy in my memory. When you live so long with hurt, it shapes you.

I’ve decided that if my illness and I must be constant companions, I will learn from it. I chose to let it soften me, instead of harden me. I will be kind, I will be pleasant, I will be someone that others can count on in hard moments. These are my goals.

i hope that when you
walk down the street,
people see you smile.
and they may wonder
if it is a new love or
maybe a raise at work.
but no, that’s not it.
you smile in the knowledge
that everyone you meet
is fighting the same demons
that you are.
you are no better and certainly
no worse. we are all warriors
against a war we fight inside.
– j.m. storm

This is where we are beginning, friends. This is the story of my darkness and how it shapes me. It’s also the story of my joy and why I try to choose it every day.