When I was a kid, my grandma (on my father’s side) gave my sisters and I a book called Big Me, Little Me. At least I think it was called that, and obviously the Internet doesn’t exist so I can’t research it, ok smartass? Anyway, the whole idea was that you were the big me when you rocked Christ, and the little me when you went at shit solo. The book seemed a bit progandaist to me even at that age, but I think it’s actually a good, if a bit biased, lesson. You’re at your best when your actions align with your beliefs. You’re flailing otherwise.  

So what does one do when beliefs/intuition/your own damn brain acts against you? What if you can’t use your faith because you don’t have one, and your own mental version of the universe is stressful and anxiety-inducing? Find God? Not my cup of tea, thanks. Been down that road before. No offense, just not my thing. 

Instead, you fortify your positive emotions with input from your kin, you put all that pent-up faith into yourself, and you handle your shit. I can’t afford to go crazy again. I lost too much. Friends, trust, inches of adorable body fat, and it’s only lately, three years-and-change later, that I’ve gained it all back (and then some, in terms of body fat, thanks abilify)….mostly. There are friends and former friends who never came back over to the side of Trusting Jady. Bygones. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about my ‘higher power’ lately, mostly because I work at a rehab facility and that’s kinda my job…to know the 12-step philosophy, even if I don’t wholly agree with it, and to be able to speak to addicts with intelligence and insight. So what is an agnostic’s higher power? What remains when you’ve burned your world to the ground? What is greater than you, but a part of you, guiding and comforting and generally doing what gods do? (My word processor automatically capitalizes ‘God’. 21-year-old Jady is deeply offended) 

I believe my higher power, and I know how freaking smelly hippie this sounds, is Love. My love for my family, especially my husband, saw me through the worst of my madness and keeps me working to be healthy even today. My love for my friends kept me trying to be social and cheerful when it was the last thing I wanted to do (I was much more into sleeping all day, after they gave me enough meds to break my mania and thus tranquilize me into submission) my love for this weird, glorious world kept me going when I felt totally alone in my disease. Love is self-fulfilling, multiplies the more you employ it, and goddamn useful. 

So today, when I felt like sleeping forEVER, I got up instead. Because I love my life. And as those of you who have experienced true love know, it’s not always easy, it’s not always fun, but it’s always ALWAYS worth it. 

Love you tons, loyal reader.