Just read an interesting essay about a writer couple where the man gets terribly successful (Jonathan Franzen) and she doesn’t (Kathryn Chenkovitch).  It was about how much she envied his success and finally got over it and is pressing on with her own work.  Very much hit home in some ways, especially her despair at being unable to write as well as he did and be that kind of success.

I have despair too that I’m not good enough at this to continue on with it.  Every time I log on to this blog and see how few people are reading me in real time, I get a little despairing about whether my story matters to anybody but myself.

Then I remember that every time I talk to someone about bipolar disorder that I educate at least that one person.  And that my remission can give others hope that they too can be well again. I hope to be a modest success in at least that fashion and help other people with my story.  That’s all I really want.  The rest will either happen or take care of itself.



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