This is the story of a young woman who has been through the worst parts of the storm and now dedicates every day to finding the rainbows. This is the story of learning to do what you can, when you can, how you can.

I can say now that it was an early diagnosis of bipolar disorder that saved my life.

There are some sounds that I have gotten used to. The sound of feet shuffling in those sticky hospital socks. The sound of the door opening every 15 minutes and a nurse saying "...checks!" The sound of the judge shows that tend to play continuously in psychiatric unit free rooms and the scratchy sound of thin sheets against thin plasticized mattresses. I've gotten used to those sounds, but my favorite sound of all is the sound of a pay phone ringing and someone yelling, "Simone! Simone! Someone is on the phone for you." Whenever I get sick, it is those calls that get me through. That one sound makes home not feel so far away and reminds me that I'm just having an episode and that soon enough everything will be OK and the channel, so to speak, will change.

I had my first memorable episode at the age of 13. I didn't know what was happening. I was hanging out at the youth coffeehouse that I went to every Friday night. I was a freshman in high school, and going through teenage angst was no fun, but my angst was different. I was depressed. I was suicidal. I was manic and I was very confused. I was at the coffeehouse, dancing as if I had had 13 espressos, talking to my friends so quickly they couldn't understand me; I felt out of control. My heart was racing and my mind simply couldn't slow down. I remember thinking I had to calm down, so I sat to play video games and the next thing I remember I was crying and dry-heaving in a corner, so despondent my mother had to come back early. That's when therapy started and that's how old I was when my mom told me that I had bipolar disorder.

I can say now that it was an early diagnosis of bipolar disorder that saved my life. In total I have had, probably what feels like, hundreds of episodes, but maybe 20 major episodes and nearly 13 hospitalizations. I have had many different treatments and I have been on many different medications. I have experienced some really challenging side effects. I have gone to work drooling. I have been unable to wake up before 12 noon or stay up past 6 pm. I have gained 60 pounds in four months. I have lost friends to this illness. I have spent many wakeful nights cursing the gods for this disease, but in 2006 something changed. It was my worst suicide attempt to date. The doctors were surprised I survived and I made a promise to myself that I would not only never do that again, but that I would work every day to find joy in my life.

So, I started small. I learned dialectical behavior therapy. I started doing daily morning affirmations by telling myself that I was beautiful, loveable and had nothing to be ashamed of. I learned that I had to take care of myself with monk-like discipline. I stopped drinking, smoking cigarettes, eating sugar, and instead began drinking water, practicing meditation, eating foods I could pronounce, dancing, and celebrating each moment of my existence with exuberance and joy. If I think about living my whole life with bipolar it's overwhelming. Not knowing how my moods may shift. Not knowing who my bipolar will try to convince me to push away. Not knowing if my darkest days will settle upon me once again. So instead I live with one idea in my head. I take my life one day at a time and I do what I can, when I can, how I can.

It has been 11 years since I was diagnosed. Some days are easier than others. My episodes are different now. For a long time the serious episodes were separated by weeks and not months. For a long time my parents weren't sure if I was going to make it. But no one gave up on me and because of that I never gave up on myself. Eleven years later here I am. I am happy. I am in a beautiful and loving relationship. I'm working on my first book. My family and I get along well. I have great health professionals supporting me and, best of all, I have hope. And I know that bipolar will not be the end of my story.

It was almost a decade ago I was finally able to label the constant chaos that invaded my mind and stifled my spirit. For me a diagnosis meant an explanation and something tangible. This chaos took the form of an inner monologue (not voices, but my own constant narration) that directed my behaviors and polluted my thoughts. I spent the first 20 years of my life thinking I was just "different" or "overly emotional" — out of control sometimes and lacking any self-worth and motivation for life. I felt the lows of bipolar; sorrow and hopelessness permeated every fiber of my being — there is no mistaking depression.

Having bipolar disorder may be part of me, but it doesn't define me.

At first I accepted it as a "normal" part of life — part of the teenage experience, growing pains, dwindling self-esteem and paranoia. But what does "normal" mean? If that was normal, I did not want to continue living my life. It was when I started college and began studying psychology that I put the pieces together and found hope. It took driving drunk one night completely out of control, with tears streaking down my face after storming out of my apartment having just screamed at all my roommates for no good reason, to realize something wasn't right. Why was I so sad and other times so angry? Why did I hate myself so much and feel so hopeless? I had all the reasons in the world to love my life.

After seeking treatment, I was quickly diagnosed with depression and later bipolar disorder II. Experimenting with medications was frustrating; they made me feel better but not GREAT. I wasn't sure if that was good enough: should I settle for feeling just OK? At one point the combination of medications I was on kept me in a state of emotional numbness — I had no sensation, I was not happy and I was not sad. I felt like a zombie and it made it very hard for people to be around me. I wasn't myself. Within the first year of my diagnosis I finally found a combination of medications that worked. I remained hopeful that I would continue to recover and live life "normally" — whatever that means.

I am mentally well now because I took personal responsibility for my health, seeking out every resource available to aid me in my recovery: medication, therapy, group counseling, books, research articles, nonprofit organizations (eg, MHA, NAMI). And I had a great support system. No matter how low I got, I stayed hopeful and looked toward the future for motivation. My family was and is my primary motivation; without the support and unconditional love of my parents, I would have given up.

People told me I was "average" and shouldn't set my goals too high in college, so my motivation was achieving my master's degree, and I did with high honors. I was motivated by the thought that one day I would beat this thing and have a career helping others like me. Today I work for Mental Health America of Colorado and feel empowered every day when I can lift someone else up and encourage them to embrace recovery. Today I am very disciplined in taking my medications appropriately, going to doctor/psychiatrist appointments regularly, being mindful of things that trigger me and taking care of myself (eg, eating right, exercising, journaling).

It has taken 10 years for me to discover that my ability to remain more powerful than my illness keeps me in control of my mind and my health. Having bipolar disorder may be part of me, but it doesn't define me. I believe without the medication I would be in a much different place mentally and would not have been able to achieve the goals that I set for myself. Medication is one tool used to recover from mental illness; for me it was the one that allowed me to regain a sense of self and take control. As a wise friend and colleague of mine once said, "Heal yesterday, live today, dream tomorrow."

Since recovering, he graduated from a community college and went on to obtain a degree from a major university. He is currently employed as a paralegal in Columbus, Ohio.

Being diagnosed with bipolar depression was not so much a verdict as it was a liberation.

The world stopped in 1997, the year I was diagnosed. That was 12 years ago. Since the age of five, I had been in treatment with my psychiatrist and pediatrician for ADHD. The hyperactivity I exhibited as a young child had become worse, and at age 15 I experienced my first manic episode. When I speak of it now, "manic episode" is just a way of compartmentalizing the feelings I had then and tucking them away in a drawer. It was more than that. It was dancing with danger, and flirting with destructive behavior for just the thrill of it. I vandalized someone's house. I experimented with alcohol and drugs. I hallucinated, hearing fast swing music everywhere. When the hallucinations became incessant, and my need for sleep dwindled to three or four hours a night, my mother took me to an emergency session with the psychiatrist. As it turns out, I had been misdiagnosed in part. It was only years later that my doctor and I found out I have both bipolar depression and ADD.

For me, being diagnosed with bipolar depression was not so much a verdict as it was liberation. What young adult, in the peak of mania, knows what the words mean? I had no idea what bipolar depression was. I didn't have any preconceptions about it. I just knew that my treatment plan with my psychiatrist was changing and there was hope that I would only get better.

Several months later, I began a "black period" in my life that persisted for five years. Depression set in, and it progressively got deeper and darker, leading to two hospitalizations, in 2000 and 2002. Nothing made me feel better. Nothing worked. My psychiatrist recommended that I begin work with a therapist. I had been to several, and initially was not convinced that therapy would help. But it was my desire to finally survive bipolar depression that made me stick to the treatment plan that we developed, and I was able to find recovery.

I felt that I recovered from my dark depression on October 23, 2002. On that day, everything I had been working on during treatment seemed to fit together. I noticed that on that day, the persistent weight that had been behind my eyes for five years was erased. I stepped outside and looked at the sky. Even though it was gray, it felt like I could now see in color.

On that day, I created a plan. I wanted to go through school and graduate so I could obtain private health insurance and be self-supporting. Even though I was out of depression, I knew that if I didn't stick to my treatment plan, I wouldn't be able to achieve this goal. I stuck to the treatment plan and reaped the benefit of having done so. I obtained my associate's degree, and went on to pursue a bachelor's degree in political science.

Since graduation from the university, I took my passion to serve and help others with bipolar depression to work. Currently, I'm spearheading an initiative with the child support enforcement agency I work for to help people with mental illness find gainful employment, so that they can get back on their feet, avoid jail or prison and feel the same joy in recovery that I have felt.

It's important to work with your psychiatrist on finding the correct diagnosis. So be open with your psychiatrist. Tell him or her everything about what is going on with you right now, so that he or she can make an accurate assessment. Don't try to fish for a diagnosis on your own and present supporting evidence that helps the psychiatrist arrive at a conclusion. Be open. Be proactive. Be yourself. As long as you work together with your doctor and therapist, it's my belief that you can find recovery too and experience the joy that comes with it. Always believe in yourself. Believe you can recover and that you will recover. If I had given up on life back in my early twenties, I would have never been able to achieve my goals and dreams.

When I look at where I am today, I thank myself for having made the right choice. Don't give up on your dreams. Instead allow them to motivate you to get better. If you work with your doctor and take your medications, you can enjoy the life you've always wanted to live, keeping your goals in the forefront.