I don't remember when I stopped throwing them out and started saving them, and at first I thought by saving them it would make for a good picture. That was it. A picture? All these pills and psychiatric visits just for a picture? Then I realized that each one of these bottles was a step closer to feeling sane and happy. I cried when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, depression and anxiety. But I also felt relieved to finally know why I felt as lost and confused as I did. "I'm too happy to be bipolar. It's destructive and I've seen it first hand, that's not me." I waited to tell my parents because that would mean both of their kids are bipolar and I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I had a chemical imbalance, as if it was a choice I made. If you honestly feel that you cannot control your emotions, see someone. Don't push it to the side. Talk to someone. A friend, a mentor, an aunt. Check with a sliding scale psychiatrist or therapist. If we all kept our mouths shut about mental illness struggles, it would eat us up inside and that's when unhealthy, dangerous and self abuse decisions are made. Be kind to one another. And love yourselves the most. You owe it to yourselves.