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It shouldn’t surprise you to know that the only place I feel safe to be myself is when I’m alone with my thoughts and my words. It’s part of why this blog has been so important for me. It’s a place I’ve created for myself to be myself, unapologetically, with as many commas as I damn well please. Doing so sometimes, with with reckless abandon.

The past few weeks would definitely fall into the category of reckless abandon. Now, safely on the other side of things, I can call it what it really was: mania

My name is Amanda and I’m an alcoholic, but I also am bipolar. I suffer from PTSD, anxiety and depression and when not treated the right way, this multi-pronged monstrosity of diagnoses can literally become a case of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. I am the hulk, the Tasmanian Devil and confessions of a Shop-A-Holic, shaken, not stirred with an extra shot on top. I am, certifiably crazy.

And I don’t know what that makes me. To be honest, I don’t know who I am. I described this sense of directionless to a therapist once, using a move reference, as I often do.

Remember the Disney Movie LILO and Stitch? That movie was a favorite of mine, because I identified so heavily with that little blue alien, romping around the world just trying to fit in, while on the inside he was torn apart by internal torture, an identity crisis so consuming he literally couldn’t help but destroy everything in his path, including his own family.

At some point towards the fairytale ending, Stitch sits alone in the Hawaiian forest reading the ugly duckling to himself and cried out loud

“help, I’m lost.”

I am lost.

But thankfully I got some help.

I’ve spent the last week and a half at Brooke Glenn Behavioral Health learning what my diagnosis means and getting on the right anti-psychotics to help stabilize me.

I’m now on a month long unpaid leave from my job and safe with my mom, who has taken a break from living her dream in Florida to brave the fierce cold of Philly’s spring (seriously she described 64 as cold today) to help me get back on my feet.

I don’t know what’s next in my journey but I know this much: for now, it doesn’t include social media.

The best part of the last week and a half hands down was living unplugged. And I don’t know why I’ve been living my life so plugged in for so long.

But I do know that for someone who struggles with identity and self-esteem, the internet is as dangerous a place for as the bars where I used to drown my mental illness in alcohol. So I’m going to stay away, and use it the way it was originally designed: to stay connected personally on a one to one basis. I don’t think the internet was ever meant to be a place where we “lived” our best lives screaming about bottomless brunches for anyone to listen. And I know that for some people, it isn’t that unhealthy for them. But for me, it is. So I’m giving it up for a while.

And by the way, this by no means means I’m going to stop writing. Sitting here in the bath of our Media hotel room, precariously typing this blog post on my cellphone over a full tub, I feel more myself and at home than I ever have. Because finally, I know the whole story now. It’s beautiful and messy and complicated, but so am I. And I’m also strong and smart as hell. So I’m going to write my way through this and in the meantime ask for all the prayers you can muster, because this is going to make one hell of a memoirs some day.

Oh, and by the way, even with this manic episode, I managed to maintain my sobriety. Don't drink no matter what really means don't drink no matter what. I'm proud to say that at the end of this month I'll be celebrating one year and six months clean and sober.