One year ago, I was in the thick of my disease. I was knee deep in the grimy pits of therapy, facing one of many medication changes, had yet to meet my full time psychiatrist, and sleeping. A lot. I wasn't eating, wasn't showering, wasn't changing out of my pajamas. I ached in my arms and legs. I cried. I got headaches and stomachaches. One year later and I'm sort of split on my recovery. On one hand, I'm doing great. Most of the above symptoms have gone away. I don't ache anymore, I don't sleep my days away, I'm holding down a job, I don't cry everyday, I shower, I eat, I get dressed. A huge part of my recovery is thanks to my support network (shout out to Dave! Respect! And my mom! Woot!), thanks to modern medicine, and thanks to my stubbornness. After everything went down, even in the absolute worst, darkest hours, I had this little thread tethering me to this world. I don't know what it was tied to (Grace? Dave? God?), but for some reas