Welcome Back—We Didn’t Think You Were Gonna Make It (A Bipolar, PTSD Story)
The first thing I remember was voices. Everything was blurry, my head felt heavy, and I couldn’t move. Then I heard someone say, "Welcome back. We didn’t think you were gonna make it." I was in the ICU. I had been in a coma for three days. Stroke. Cardiac arrest. They told me I was found on the deck, no pulse. I was dead, and help arrived just in time to bring me back. I should have been gone. But I’m still here. And maybe that means I got a story to tell.
The Cycle That Almost Killed Me
I got bipolar disorder. I got PTSD from my time in the service. And I got a long history of hurting the people I love, even when I don’t mean to. If you know, you know—when I’m up, I’m way up. Money feels like nothin’. I’ll drop a whole paycheck on clothes I don’t need, rounds at the bar, trying to be somebody. The next thing I know, rent’s due and my account’s empty. I swear, sometimes it feel like my money just disappeared. Like someone robbed me. But then I check my bank statements, and there it is—I spent it all. Can’t even remember half of it.
And that’s just the money part. When I’m in a manic state, I talk too much, get in people’s faces, make big plans I can’t follow through on. Then, when the crash comes, I don’t even wanna leave my bed. That’s when my phone stops ringing. Friends, family—they ghost me. I get it. I do. But damn, it still stings.
The Drinking & The War
I drink too much. Always have. But it ain’t just for fun. I drink to forget. Some stuff you see, you can’t unsee. The war never really ended for me. It follows me. In my dreams. In the quiet. So, I drown it. But all that does is push people further away. Nobody wanna deal with a drunk who can’t control himself.
The Breaking Point
Two years ago, I nearly died. And for what? A life wasted on bad choices and broken relationships? Laying there in that hospital bed, barely able to move, I had to ask myself—if I got one more chance, what am I gonna do with it?
The truth is, I ain’t perfect. I still slip. But I try. I take my meds (most of the time). I show up to therapy, even when I don’t wanna talk. I keep my doctor’s appointments. I got a long way to go, but at least now, I know I wanna keep going.
What I’ve Learned on This Journey
You gotta stay on your meds. It’s easy to think you don’t need ‘em when you start feeling good. But that’s the disorder lying to you. Stay on ‘em.
Drinking don’t fix nothin’. Yeah, it might shut your brain up for a while, but the problems’ll still be there when you sober up—worse, even.
People got their limits. I’ve lost good people ‘cause I took ‘em for granted. I can’t blame them. But for the ones still here, I gotta show up different.
Therapy ain’t weak. It ain’t easy, either. But neither is living like this. Talking about your demons won’t kill you, but running from ‘em just might.
Your past don’t have to decide your future. Yeah, I messed up a lot. But I ain’t done yet. And neither are you.
Maybe I’m Still Here for a Reason
I ain’t got all the answers. Hell, I barely got any. But I know this—if you’re reading this and you feel like you stuck in the same cycle, like you always letting people down, like the world might be better off without you—I see you. You ain’t alone.
Therapy helps. Meds help. Owning your mistakes helps. And if I can come back from the edge, so can you.
I don’t know how much time I got left, but I know this: I ain’t gonna waste it. And neither should you.
If you feel like sharing, drop your story in the comments. Someone out there needs to hear it.
