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Once upon a time, I started writing online, trying to put voice to the problems I was having, the thoughts that were eating me up, those things driving me mad.

For the most part, I’ve gotten through a few things. My anger and guilt at sudden motherhood. My struggles with PPD, and then bipolar, something that’s ongoing, and always will be to a degree. To a lesser extent, my experiences as an adoptee who has found her biological roots, as an abused child, and just those of life itself, this narcissistic exercise in caution we call blogging.

Somedays I delude myself into thinking that I’m helping someone, one here perhaps, another there. Perhaps I do.

But when I look at the comments for “I cannot handle being a mother anymore“, 185 responses later, and hear the voices yelling “hear hear!” and “please, help, I CAN’T do this anymore”, I know that some current has been touched, some raw nerve of blind anger, need and seething love.

When I read 118 comments to “Why do bipolar people push partners away”, and hear stories of people from both sides of the fence, the loved and the hated, the patient and the pitied, I realize I’m echoing the thoughts and fears of many, and perhaps becoming that place I couldn’t find when googling madly about my disease, looking for the words of people, not doctors or sympathetic therapists.

Maybe, just maybe. I’m reaching out into the dark and helping someone get their footing.

For awhile I’ve thought about doing what I’ve done-about opening forums connected to this site that we can use to pull some of these discussions into a live environment. Opening a place where perhaps a dialogue can be a little easier, where we can return to when we need.

If the need isn’t there, it’s easy to pull back and close it back off. But I want to at least try and leave the door open for people to find each other in the same place, a safe place.

So please, open the door, and say hello.

Spin Me I Pulsated