Erin McKelle

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I’ve said I was “good,” “fine,” or “doing well” after crying for hours, lying in bed all day with no motivation, and even experiencing suicidal ideation. My worst days are when the temptation to mask my pain with a smile is the strongest.

That’s exactly the spirit that word should embody: someone who is loud, proud, and an advocate for themselves. Someone who stands out and is bold and beautiful for it. Someone who is unapologetically themselves.

I’m ready to demystify the stereotypes and break down the stigma of bipolar disorder.

I’m adopted. It’s one of those things that has been a major force in shaping my identity, but that’s hard to talk about authentically almost anywhere.

I had known many people, and even had friends in college, who were in open and non-monogamous relationships. Things always seemed to work really well for them, and I had noticed that everyone was usually on the same page about what was happening in the relationship, which seemed to be a rarity, at least among straight couples.

I began to see my mental health go completely downhill. This led me to seek out a psychiatrist, who raised an interesting concern: she thought my birth control was messing with my depression. It’s not like I hadn’t been aware of the link between hormonal contraception and depression before, but it never occurred to me that these two personal realities could be connected.

You might not think of food as being a savior in eating disorder recovery, but I have actually found food to be one of my greatest sources of refuge — and not in a relapse sort of way.

I am a recovering serial dater who is now single and actually enjoying it.

There’s nothing worse than taking a pregnancy test when you don’t want to be pregnant.

It’s especially bad when you don’t know who the father is.

Last year, this is the exact situation I found myself in: 23, single, not on contraception, and with a late period. I was nothing short of panicked.

After finding the least expensive test that CVS carried (by the way, can we talk about how expensive pregnancy tests are?!), I went home to find out my fate. After locking myself in the bathroom, I turned the shower on to drown out the noise of my thoughts. I waited five minutes and then peered at the stick, leaning as far away from the sink as possible in case it showed two lines.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw one clear line on the screen.

I quickly tossed the test in the trash, turned off the shower, and hopped in bed with a bottle of cabernet.