I've been called brave by several people because I refuse to live in silence about my illness or that I go off and live on my own in a different country or that I am different and proud of it.  Maybe those things are brave, but they are part of me.  Bravery isn't the absence of fear, but moving forward despite feeling fear.

That's what I do, I move forward even in the most awful circumstances.  I decided to file a complaint because I was tired that he was ignoring me because the incident is still effecting us both.  I am appalled by this manager's appalling treatment of everyone.  Instead of staying silent, I filled out paperwork and mailed it off to the area office for a government agency.  Maybe that was brave.  Standing up instead of following the status quo like a lemming.  I mean I could leave, but I don't hate my job or the people I work with.  I hate what happened. 

My descent into madness could have happened at anytime.  It just needed the correct trigger and the incident was that trigger.  I spiraled so far out of control that I didn't even recognize myself.  I had the choice of get better or die.  I chose to get better by developing a wellness plan that my friends and family are helping me with.  I am still motivated by the hope that he will stop being mad at me and care again because people always come back to me.  All the friends I piss off come back to me eventually because I am persistent and charismatic.  Even depressed I have that charisma.

I am getting better for me and that is possibly the most selfish thing to do.  Yet I am afraid that I can slip back into the craziness that plagued me even a few short months ago.  I carry my hope, my drive and my heart.  That is keeping me alive.  That is making me brave.  Not that I use my voice, but because I wake up everyday and decide to carry on.

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