For my entire life, writing has been a big part of what made me who I was.
I have had my life planned out since I was nine. I would write,
be published by age 22, be well known by age 25, and die by age 30.
Last year, I felt a sudden sense of urgency... the gap between the present
and the impending death I had chosen for myself was closing quickly.
There was still so much to accomplish, and so little time.
Exasperated, and quickly losing a sound state of mind, I resorted
to an early ending... attemping suicide (November 2007).
I was immediately diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder and put on Lithium.
I improved quickly, and for the first time in years, I felt GOOD. I had energy,
I caught up with friends and family members I'd been avoiding,
I went out and enjoyed life, I began to get things done that I'd been
putting off for too long. But I quit writing. I lost all creative inspiration.
It was unacceptable. I had been artistic my entire life.
Writing, photography, painting, making jewelry...
these were my passions. These defined me. I was nothing without them.
So I stopped taking the medication. I was fine for a few weeks,
but began to deteriorate rapidly. I almost lost it all, again.
All for the sake of being able to write.
I am back on medication (though a more dangerous one this time),
and (not surprisingly) not writing again.
Now I'm not saying I'll never write again.
I'm not saying I've given up on it.
But one day I had epiphany and just like that I decided that there are
other reasons to live. Maybe I have another purpose in life.
I think I have found that other purpose
(psychology and counseling, volunteering for the crisis hotline,
and helping spread awareness of suicide prevention).
I also know that I am in for a life-long battle with my disorder.
I know that I will probably die young (or at least younger than many
of my contemporaries), and more than likely by my own hand.
I have accepted this with peace in my heart, and I am not afraid of death.
I have, after all, been planning my meteoric demise since I was nine years old.
It's about time I came to terms with that (and what I'm dealing with).
I don't feel that the length of life is important -
only what you have done with the small amount of time you are given.
Once again, I feel an urgency - to do more, to be more.
The sands of time are always spiraling downward, and the bottom chamber
of the hourglass is filling quickly.
I am trying to do all I can, be all I can, before my time runs out.
I hope you all will be patient with me and support me through this.
I love all of you more than you could know.
You have given so much meaning and joy to my life. :)
Love,
Allie
Adding your comment:
Well love is not a feeling it's an ability 
i think if i stopped fighting and stayed still for a while answers would come. i have no patience! seems like you have a lot more than i do 
