Blog,  Non-fiction

The Silent Battle

When I lived in Brooklyn, I used to spend some of my day feeding young cats in Fort Greene Park. (Two of them are now living with me in Asbury Park.) One day I met  a young man in the park named Christopher who was “pumping iron”  in his wheel chair. His smile was infectious. Half of his leg was gone. Later, he told me his story. When he was 15 years old, he was called to his sister’s aid as she was being attacked by a gang. She got away, but the gang shot him 9 times in the back and leg. Now at 23 years old, this former football hopeful fights his battle off the field. His determination is fierce. I believe Christopher made a conscious effort to embrace his life not as it was, but as it is.

Twenty-three years ago I discovered that I suffer from bipolar illness. I was an avid runner, a mother and a successful publishing sales person. For a long time I have been shaped by this illness, even though I have been reluctant to call it by its name until recently. I have learned there is no shame in any illness. While mine  may be different from heart disease or cancer or Christopher’s issues, it is still an illness that requires medication, a lot of common sense and extreme discipline.

Christopher and I have each learned to draw on our challenges as a source of strength. While Chris’ pain is physical and visible, mine is mental and hidden. I saw Chris recently and he had completed college and is going to graduate school. I believe that most people have something in their lives that causes pain, even the ones who don’t look as if they do. It is simply the human condition.

As I conclude this part of my journey I commend to you this quote by Ian Maclaren, Scottish theologian : “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

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