They were so torturous that the thought of my life ending pales in comparison to the thought of reliving those Hells

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Today is my 8th anniversary for being in spiritual recovery. By the grace of God and the sweat of my brow.

I started the journey of Recovery in 1993. It took me through some deep valleys and to some breath-taking heights before I added spirituality to the “equation” in 2010. My path has leveled off significantly.

Thanks to the trials and tribulations, suffering, and harsh lessons that I learned due to my Bipolar Disorder and Addictions (some even in the earlier days of Recovery), I no longer fear death.

Depression, suicidality, loss of loved ones, desperate circumstances, the inevitable crash at the finales of Manic episodes, self-hatred, self-harm, shame, addiction, the mental torture of rumination, anxiety, hatred, and resentments are all states of being that were so torturous that the thought of my life ending pales in comparison to the thought of reliving those Hells.

Strong spiritual beliefs, a sense of purpose, and an unwavering belief that my existence was, and is, meaningful, have also helped to put me at peace with my mortality.

When my time comes, if I see it coming, I suspect I will fear dying. But at this point in my life, abstract thoughts of the end of my existence no longer kick me into fight or flight mode as they did for many years.

And for that, I am grateful.

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