Some years ago, almost four years ago, people including doctors thought I might suffer from bipolar disorder. I'll leave out the gory details, but I kid you not - for more than a week I could not sleep, eat, or really function at all. The wheels in my head were turning. I felt a creative genius, that I could conquer all my fears and start a fulfilling career. I sought information. I talked to anyone who wanted to give me advice or was willing to listen. I thought I could become an advertising exec or an event planner. I wanted to use my college degree in English, my minor in communication. I did a ton of reading, writing, and talking. I ended up in the hospital. I was diagnosed with a chemical imbalance. I took an ungodly amount of doctor prescribed medication. I crumbled. I couldn't go back to work for months - well, a couple of months. I had to reintegrate myself back into my job as a waitress. I was embarrassed . I was groggy. I was done with ambition. This happened almost ...
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