In 1996 I was diagnosed with major depression while hospitalized for chronic abdominal pain. After undergoing what seemed like every test known to mankind I was told I had depression and my pain was in my head. I told the doctor he was the one who was ill. Finally, I agreed to meet with a psychiatrist and realized I did have severe depression.

The next several years were a constant roller coaster ride. I was always tired or "on the run", slept continuously or not at all, gained an enormous amount of weight and just could not seem to keep it together anymore. I had raging fits of anger, spent outrageous amounts of money and became sexually promiscuous. Mood swings, suicidal thoughts and insomnia finally took their toll. After I spent one night roaming the house in a panic and physically attacking my husband, he and my mother had me committed to the psychiatric ward. I was so scared. Nine days in the mental hospital opened my eyes. I was seriously ill. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

It has been three years since my release back into the "real world." I struggle everyday with just getting out of bed and keeping my head together. My life seems like it is in constant turmoil. In the past year my husband of 10 1/2 years divorced me and our son chose to stay with his dad. Though joint custody was awarded, I felt like I lost my husband, home and child. During this ordeal I was terminated from my job for excessive absences. Along with the bipolar disorder I suffered from migraines, seizures and anxiety attacks that made me physically sick.

During the fight to get my job back I would sit up all night in the bathroom clutching pictures of my children - the reasons I should carry on with life. I know God was with me each and every night keeping me alive because when the alarm sounded it was like a slap back into reality. I had to get up and see the faces that made me want to live. They needed to be given their breakfast and be taken to school.

I did get my job back and my boss encourages me to keep going. I started going to church with my parents who are very supportive. I worry that my children suffer because I just cannot seem to get with the program, but I am reassured by their teachers and our family that I am doing a wonderful job of raising them. I have met a man that accepts me and cares about me, though I am not perfect. I am scared to death I will hurt him with a manic episode. He is educating himself about bipolar disorder and says he will be with me until the end.

No matter how bad things get or seem, there is light at the end of the darkest and longest tunnel.