I don’t know why I am still here today. I shouldn’t be. Maybe I'm like a cat, and I have 9 lives. Regardless of the reason, at this point in my journey, I have learned to be grateful for each moment.

For as long as I can remember, I have been sick. I was critically ill throughout the entirety of my 20s, in and out of hospitals during my 30s, and I spent frightening amounts of time in ICU where doctors pulled me back from the edge of death twice in one year. This all happened before I turned 40.

Battling an illness that exists within the brain is challenging enough, but living with isolation, shame, guilt and loneliness was where I suffered most.

Learning about mental illness, educating myself on my disorder and becoming an active participant in my treatment plan, in addition to having the unconditional love and compassion from a few very unique and remarkable family members and friends, I have been able to live what outsiders or "normies" often perceive to be an "abundant" life.

That's a long winded way of saying that most people don't immediately look at me and label me as "sick."

Despite my education on mental illness, I continued to live in fear and shame over who I was and how my mind and emotions functioned. I never felt comfortable in my own skin, because I never felt accepted for who I was as I truly was. I found that I spent exhaustive amounts of energy hiding the parts of me that others didn't like or that made them feel uncomfortable.

By 2015, my life spiraled out of control. I couldn't continue to pretend I didn't have a mental illness. The result of my combined psychological chaos and repression resulted in two suicide attempts that were so severe I ended up in a coma in both situations. My recovery was long and difficult, but facing my death, I promised myself I would try to live my truth.

I became a loud, outspoken mental health advocate and began the process of healing.

In the process of learning to accept myself, an unrecognizable part of me I didn't know existed began to blossom. It dawned on me that I was not alone in the madness of my mind nor was I alone in the madness of this world.

I learned the crisis of my personal situation was not an exclusive experience, and while certainly difficult and even tragic at times, others had been through this before me and survived to tell about it. This gave me hope.

I have been an active member of NAMI since 2003 and over the years, I have proudly raised thousands of dollars for this organization.

But it didn't mean anything until I began truly advocating for myself.

I normally write standard copy for fundraising pieces and address where your dollars go and how important our collective contribution is to grass root organizations, but this year I think it's important to remind everyone that life's journey can be difficult and isolating regardless of mental illness. We need greater unity and compassion.

As one who actively lied about my health hoping to make others feel comfortable my presence, pretending everything was "FINE," when I felt like I was being swallowed by quicksand; as one who smiled and picked up projects deflecting my need for help, support, understanding and compassion, risking my health and my life at any cost, I ask you to move past any personal discomforts you may have about mental illness and just remember that we are all people. We want to be seen, heard and loved because life is hard for lots of reasons.

Let's be the hand that reaches out to lift another person who is suffering up.

#youarenotalone