All Aboard the Bipolar Express
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Monday for The Root, I wrote a piece about my personal struggle with mental illness for Mental Health Awareness Month. For my piece, I focused on learning to accept my diagnosis after I was “outed” as mentally ill by an internet troll. Who strangely wanted to take credit for me being hospitalized. So weird.
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A few years ago I came to accept something most of my friends and family already know about me — I’m obtuse. I don’t notice what’s going on around me because I live deep in my head, lost in thoughts, lost in my own frustrations and pain, ambitions and proclivities. Even though I possess the
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My name is Danielle Belton and I am Bipolar. But don’t worry. I don’t introduce myself in person that way.
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Two weeks ago I wrote about my annoying search for a psychiatrist to help me maintain my mental stability and, lordy be, I found one. Hopefully they won’t be an indifferent schmuck (I’ve had a lot of experience with those), but at this point I don’t care.
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Part of my zeal for rejoining the world of employment — besides wanting to fight racial in justice while getting paid a living wage — was that I could finally afford to go to doctors and dentists again. As soon as my insurance kicked in, I began booking long put off appointments left and right.
Live Your Best Life. 