There are many things to be happy about right now in my life. I have a job I love (and I have a job, period), I’m in love, I have good friends and a family that loves me, and a cat that has adopted me and makes me smile when she rolls over on her back so I will rub her belly. And I don’t have to worry about the basics such as food and shelter.
I can’t complain, people will say. And right now, I really can’t.
But it’s not always like this for me. More than a 15 years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I spent a couple stints in psychiatric wards and struggled ferociously with regaining my sanity.
Those weeks in the hospitals were pure hell, and every night when I take my meds, I am reminded I have a preexisting condition that makes me a threat to health insurance companies.