Not long ago, I was knocked down flat by an uber-virus that everyone seemed to be catching. In the throes of my throbbing raw throat, faucet nostrils, and heaving cough, I was comforted knowing that many others knew exactly what I was going through: a cold like this was the most normal thing in the world.
One colleague handed me cough lozenges without my asking. Another rushed to his knapsack and pulled out an essential oils vial, and rolled a halo of medicinal vapor around my neck and temples. Cancelling plans that week was easy, and I didn’t have to explain a thing. People understood colds. But as I kept noticing and reflecting on the comfort, I felt from this universal understanding and the simplicity and ease in explaining my illness, it all had me wondering about my mental health condition—my bipolar disorder.
Read full article at BPhope, the magazine for hope and harmony for people with bipolar.