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“Healing isn’t about erasing the darkness—it’s about learning to carry the light alongside it.”

My name is Corey Welch, and for much of my life, my mind has felt like a battlefield. Diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Bipolar I Disorder, PTSD, OCD, ADHD, Insomnia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), and Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), I often felt trapped in a storm I couldn’t control—a relentless cycle of emotional highs and lows that seemed to define me.

For years, I carried these diagnoses like invisible chains, believing they made me broken. But what I’ve learned is that the darkness, while overwhelming, doesn’t have to define us. This is my story of finding hope amidst the chaos and learning to rebuild a life worth living.

The Day Everything Felt Like Too Much

I remember the moment I hit my breaking point. It wasn’t dramatic—it wasn’t a screaming match or a scene out of a movie. It was quiet. I was sitting in my car, staring at the steering wheel, feeling like the weight of my mind might crush me. My thoughts whispered things I didn’t want to believe: You’re too much. You’re not enough. Maybe everyone would be better off without you.

And yet, even in that silence, something else emerged—a small, stubborn voice. It wasn’t loud, but it was insistent: Not yet. Just take one more breath.

That voice saved me.

Taking that breath didn’t change my life overnight. It didn’t erase the darkness or magically make things easier. But it gave me the strength to take the first step. And that step was asking for help.

The Healing Process: Learning to Untangle the Storm

Therapy became my anchor. I walked into my first session carrying years of pain, guilt, and confusion, and for the first time, I began to unpack it all. My therapist’s voice was calm and steady as she said, “ You are not broken. You’re human, and humans heal. ”

One defining moment happened during a therapy session when I was asked to write a letter to the version of myself I felt most ashamed of—the Corey who had made mistakes, hurt others, and let people down. I wrote the words through tears, feeling the weight of years of self-loathing pour out onto the page.

When I finished, I read the letter aloud. My voice cracked with every sentence:

“ I’m sorry for expecting you to be perfect. I’m sorry for hating you when you were only trying to survive. I forgive you.”

That moment didn’t erase the shame, but it cracked the door open to self-compassion. It was the first time I’d extended grace to myself, and it changed how I began to see my worth.

The People Who Saved Me

Healing didn’t happen in isolation. My wife, Kristin, became my lifeline in ways I can’t fully put into words. One night, after I’d hit another emotional low, she sat beside me, holding my hand as I struggled to put my feelings into words.

“ I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” I told her, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t say, “ It’s going to be okay ” or “ You’re fine. ” Instead, she said, “ I’m here, and we’ll figure it out together. ” Those words became my anchor. She didn’t offer false promises or empty platitudes—she offered presence, and that was enough.

And then there were my daughters. Watching their laughter and boundless energy became my reason to keep going. One night, as I tucked my four-year-old into bed, she looked up at me and said, “ Daddy, are you happy today? ”

The simplicity of her question broke me and healed me at the same time. I realized that while I couldn’t always answer “yes,” I was working toward a life where I could.

What I’ve Learned Along the Way

If you’re in the middle of your own battle, here are a few things I’ve learned that might help:

1. Healing Isn’t Linear.

Some days, you’ll feel like you’re making progress. Other days, it’ll feel like you’ve taken ten steps back. Both are part of the journey.

2. You Are Not Your Diagnoses.

They are part of your story, but they do not define you. You are more than the labels you carry.

3. It’s Okay to Ask for Help.

Therapy, medication, support groups—they’re tools, not signs of failure. Strength is asking for help when you need it.

4. Celebrate the Small Wins.

Sometimes, the smallest victories—like getting out of bed or laughing at a joke—are the ones that matter most.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

Today, I’m not “cured.” There are still hard days, moments when the storm creeps back in. But I’ve learned to weather it, to hold space for both the light and the dark.

Writing became a way to process my journey—a way to make sense of the chaos. It’s why I share my story now, not because I have all the answers, but because I want others to know they’re not alone.

If you’re struggling, I hope my story reminds you that even in the darkest moments, there’s light to be found. It’s not always easy to see, but it’s there, waiting for you to reach for it.

A Message to Anyone Fighting Their Own Battle

Take one more breath. Then another. Keep taking them until you can take the next step. And when you’re ready, reach out. Let someone hold the weight with you.

You are not too much. You are not broken. You are worthy of healing, of love, and of hope.

"The weight of the shadows may press hard, but even the heaviest storms must yield to light. Hold on—there’s always a crack where hope begins to shine through."

With gratitude and light,

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