I am not going to let my mental illness rule me. I am not going to kill myself, I am not going to fade away.
I am going to write a novel. I am going to paint until my hands ache and my basement is full of used canvas. I am going fill sketchbook after sketchbook with every thought and image that flows out of me.
I am going to get up early in the morning and walk through the neighborhood, the park, the forest, the backyard, and watch and listen to every bird like the friends and teachers they are. I am going to save every feather off the ground in a box, and look in it every day, and remind myself there’s comfort in the trees outside my walls. I am going to close my eyes and hold out my arms and I am going to have wings.
I am going to believe that I have something to give, and something to be. I am going to reach into my broken, confused brain and I am going to pull out the beauty and recognize it as beauty even if it is also broken and confused. I am going to show it to the world, and I’m going to say this, this is me.
I am not going to be ruled or dominated by my mental illness, it is only a part of me, and I am going to be strong, beautiful, powerful, legendary.