CNY Native Pens Memoir on Being a Model, Living With Bipolar Disorder

Briana Smith, Spectrum News In “The Red Bench,” Jacqueline Cioffa gives readers a glimpse of her journey as an international model who suffered from bipolar disorder. The Auburn native shares her recovery to peace and hopes this inspires others to do the same.  “There are 46 million people living with this disease, and suicide is becoming more and more prevalent in our society,” Cioffa said. “I just want people who may

It hurts, Ya' Know: reblog from @stigmafighters

I am honored to be included on Stigma Fighters.  No matter who we are, we cannot face Mental Illness alone. Sarah Fader and Stigma Fighters are doing important work sharing, discussing and opening the conversation. Say NO to Stigma, YES to empathy, understanding and kindness. The time for positive change is right now.   Stigma Fighters : Jacqueline Cioffa   It hurts, Ya’ Know by Jacqueline Cioffa The earliest picture I have of me lives in

I Am Adam Lanza – by Jacqueline Cioffa

I Am Adam Lanza, Dec. 14, 2012 A decade ago I lived a frivolous, spoiled, privileged life. An International fashion model, I worked in more countries than I can count. Freedom was something I took for granted, until the earth fell from under me and my whole world shattered. My first psychotic breakdown took away everything I knew to be true and buried me whole. The paranoia, delusions of grandeur, mania,

Survivor

When life throws shit at you, and most assuredly it will, remember this. I see you. You are stronger than you think. You are kinder, graceful, brighter, smarter, funnier, richer (and not monetarily), and unique. On the days I forget and think manic depression will most definitely kill me, I dig deep. Who the hell knows where or when life’s reservoirs will dry up. I don’t, neither do you. Then,

Screaming Skies

It is after all, just a life. No bigger, no better. I have breathed more shades, more pain, more joy, more crazy, more fear, more sadness than I thought possible to carry in this one body. Death, song and daydreaming are my respites; temporary escapes from this swirling madness. I inhale deeply, the rich, sweet smells of nature flooding my senses. Music coursing the veins like venom. I wait for

Rebel Rouser

When they zapped my brain, I did not recognize the nurse who had been there all along. I recalled my mother’s face, worry lines and all. Too familiar. I forget sometimes with all these cells coarsing through veins, tripping up emotions that things came easier once. Life was uncomplicated, and I took it for granted. It was the little moments I shrugged off, the nothing less than important. Vital lessons

Paper Dreams

To never forget the page. The page carries me when I cannot stand, crouched in fetal position on the bathroom floor. The page dreams the big dreams when I see nothing through misty eyes. The page promises hope when I have exhausted all roads and left dreaming behind. The page holds my hand and guides me towards the words that are a wee bit brighter. The snow has lost interest in