If someone tells you that dreaming is only for kids,

they're full of shit.

We all have dreams, aspirations, goals, whatever you want to call them - and just because we get older doesn't mean they go away. Maybe you're dreaming of the white house with the picket fence or you're a college All-Star waiting to be signed by the big leagues, or you could be like me, wanting to work as hard as possible so one day you can have an office with a big window, overlooking an even bigger city.

But we tell each other that these "Dreams" are for kids because we know "reality".

We know the likelihood of everything going perfect is small and we don't want to have to face disappointment.

Except that is a seriously screwed up way to view the world, don't you think?

Over time, we grow up. Life becomes this blank routine. Dreams slip away.

We become content.

Do you ever think about that kid you used to be? The one who wanted to reach all of those goals, who wanted all of those things, some of which, probably aren't that unobtainable anymore.

A few years ago, I did.

I stopped allowing myself to accept complacency as a way of life.

And know what, it's really fucking hard.

I give thanks to my renewed "love of life" to this little guy right here. Type One Bipolar Disorder, of course, I also kind of wish it was an actual person so I could get a little of my aggression out. When I got my BPD-I diagnosis a few years ago, I was at rock bottom, and ever since then I've slowly been regaining my life back.

I graduated college, I started my career, I started graduate school, I got closer to my family. - those dreams I always wanted for myself of being this badass corporate executive and simultaneously the room mom at my kid's private school, they didn't seem so unreachable anymore.

Then I had my first episode after diagnosis. July 4th,2015. Mania. Small med adjustment and I was back climbing the ladder of success again.

2nd. Summer 2016. Manic / Depression. Med adjustments again. But had to add more medication on - a task I really didn't want to do considering I was 23.

3rd. Small one. Winter 2016. Stress induced. Family life, work life, everything rushing together. Guess what? Med adjustment. Also - the first time since I've been out of college that someone has a serious discussion with me about whether or not my genetics are conducive to child rearing.

Last week. First major episode since diagnosis. And I feel like a failure.

Before you say anything - don't give me any sympathy. I get enough of that from my doctor and my friends and especially from the people who don't know how to react so they just act like I'm about to kick the bucket. I know I'm not actually a failure. But I watch so many people give up on those dreams of theirs, and I have watched 40% of my family die from this illness, why do I think that I'm so special that I can be this amazing force who will beat it?

Here I am, taking the steps, doing the treatment, and it still happens. And I don't want to complain too much because there are people who have to suffer so much more, but it hurts and it is frustrating.

The questions sit in my stomach and make me nauseous.

When will the next episode be?

Why do I even take the stupid medication?

Why should I keep trying when I know it will happen again?

Should I even have kids if they will go through this too?

Then,

I remember the dreams.

The goals.

The aspirations.

And I remember a promise I made to the little girl inside of me that I will never stop getting back up.

Because these dreams aren't unobtainable and they aren't just for kids.

This is reality and let me tell you, reality can suck - especially with BP.

But I believe in my ability to keep moving forward towards success even if it's two steps forward and one step back.

I believe in my own my inner strength and so should you.

Because we can do this. We can achieve these things.

I believe in the person that I want to become -

and I will never stop fighting for her.