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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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