I remember telling my father when I was 13 years old that I was miserable, and sitting and crying on the bed because I was 'nothing', telling him I had no friends no interests that I was barely a human being.

Since then I'd worked so incredibly hard to improve myself.  
I would take every opportunity presented to me, I learned how to interact with others (since I never learned it naturally), I pushed myself to do things even if I hated them.

They would so often fall apart the moment I entered a depression and I would get so frustrated.  
Despite all my hard work, I would always go back to square one.  


In the military I went to a psychiatrist, he told me go to therapy.  
I went to therapy, didn't help.  


I went to another psychiatrist after the military, he told me I had anxiety, gave me pills.  
Nothing doing.

But finally, on the third one, I found an amazing psychiatrist.  
He listened to everything I had to say, and he told me I had bipolar 2.

He described to me exactly what I was feeling and said he'd seen it a million times before.  
After all this he told me that the most important thing was to not feel shame -- that it was simply something I was born with and had to deal with.  


But how could I feel shame?  
After over a decade, I've finally found out what's wrong with me, and I've fixed it.  
I feel the freest I ever have.