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Reflection from February 25th, 2008 @ Age 26


I have this glamorous idea that I will get published, and don’t get me wrong, I think I have a great idea here in the sense that I could really shed some light and understanding on what it is to be bipolar, but I have this glamorous idea that once I get published people will love me and I will be asked to be on Oprah and fashion magazines will want to write articles on me and my book and want me to do photo shoots and be on their covers because I’m so goddamn beautiful – and I keep thinking, this is what it must feel like to be delusional.  I can’t believe that I am f@#king delusional.  But I am!  I suffer from a psychotic disorder and I am crazy and I am delusional and if anyone knew I was really like this, I don’t know how they can say they’d still love me because I don’t see how in the world that could be so.

I loathe me when I look back at my life, look back on my thoughts and my delusions and my depression and my mania.  It’s pretty much a miracle that I graduated from college and law school and got a job, shitty paying as it may be.  It’s difficult to understand how I can present myself as such a normal human being most of the time, how I could perform decently in school and graduate with a doctorate degree for god’s sake!  It’s difficult to understand how I could do all this while I’m f@#king psychotic and delusional and hiding it from the goddamn world.  I mean, I honestly don’t see how anyone could love me if they knew the thoughts that run through my delusional mind.

I envision that designers will think that I’m so beautiful and represent truth and honesty and goodness, and that I’ve been such a big help in shedding light on this terrible illness that so many people suffer from in silence, and I think I will become a public figure and well-loved, and designers will send me free clothes because they will be honored if the likes of me were seen wearing them.  The likes of my crazy ass self.  Talk about delusions.  And yet some part of me, some teeny tiny shameful part of me wants more than anything to believe these things could come true.  I feel like to believe so is to be living outside of reality.  I believe that I have much difficulty living because my mindset shifts in and out of reality.

I think, I am so f@#king crazy but at least I am honest and am willing to portray the incredibly complex mind of a person who suffers from this illness and I think, maybe actors and actresses will respect me in a sense—because don’t I represent the kind of complex human disaster and conflicting beauty that serious actors and actresses want so much to portray?  I want to be loved I guess, but I suppose I want to be loved on a large scale.  I want to be loved on a grand scale so that my suffering will have been justified.