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Reflection from February 25th, 2008 @ Age 26


Bipolar is just not something that I can think or reason my way out of.  It just is.  It’s a chronic lifelong condition, hence the life-sentence analogy.

I was thinking at this point how there is really no in between for me.  I must either go on as I have done all my life, pretending that everything is f@#king fine, that there is nothing wrong with me at all, or I must end my life.  There is no other option I can afford, because the moment I get whacked out, who the f@ck’s gonna take care of me?  My parents prolly would if they could, but they only are of limited resources as well.  You know and if I started letting lose, started getting all wild and crazy on people as my emotions dictate—then I’d either be tossed in a loony bin, or I’d be jobless because no one would be willing to hire me.  And then I would prolly go bankrupt too, because I wouldn’t be able to pay my crazy f@#king bills—I would lose my car, I wouldn’t be able to get to work even if I wanted, I wouldn’t have health insurance and then I wouldn’t be able to get any medical care or medication; it’s just be one big f@#king mess.  I can’t deal with that, you see?  It’s all or nothing here—I either pretend I’m f@#king fine and just “normal” like everyone else, or I end this life, but I cannot afford any in between.


Finally, I was just thinking about how nice it was that my mom made chocolate covered strawberries for me yesterday, and how my dad got me chocolates and a card for Valentine’s day and all.  They really are so dearly sweet to me, and I know they want to help—but unfortunately I don’t know that all the sweet little things in this life are enough to overcome the barraging darkness and doom that lies constantly over my head.  I mean, I do like the “little things” as much as the next person — I love listening to the rain and thunder when I’m lying in bed at night, I love taking afternoon naps in the sun, I love looking at the dark brown branches of a tree against a navy blue winter’s night sky.  I do love many little things—it’s just little things, even mounted together, are sometimes just not enough to overcome the suffering a lifetime of bipolar illness entails.