I’m terrified.
When I was in high school, my bipolar swings were so drastic, that nothing really made any sense.
My lows were so low that every day I woke up thinking, “well, if the car doesn’t start(the front door jams, the cat looks at me wrong, etc.), I guess that’s a sign I should kill myself.” But not in a dramatic way, it’s just everything was so blasé, nihilistic. Life didn’t matter, I was just too much a coward to do anything about it.
A friend of a friend killed himself when I was in 11th grade (he was too) and his funeral was down the road from my house (we lived out in the sticks by a massive graveyard.), and the entire day I was so upset and bawling because he was able to be free and I couldn’t do it.
Of course I had crazy stupid highs, but this isn’t about that.
This is about explaining how low, and pointless it gets when you are sick.
It’s not something that you can turn off or just feel better about.
I only live for my kids.
The day I found out I was pregnant with Andy, was the day my brain said “suicide is no longer an option for you”. My rationale was that if I “escape”. Then all that says to my kids is There is this option.
No, there isn’t.
You hold on, you get professional help, you cling to anything and you fight through it.
Which are easy fucking words, I know. But it’s the repetitiveness of these words that gets you through and gets you to someone, anyone, when you need it.
I don’t get that low anymore, thank you hormones, but my lows are still nihilistic and scary.
After just coming out of a three year
mania, that I didn’t even know I was in until after the fact, I am terrified of falling so deep that I won’t know that death is not an option.
My love for my children and what my actions say to them is so fucking strong, but even that, I’m worried, may get clouded. Our brains are so fucking deceitful.
So, I’m terrified.
These past two well known suicides just remind me that and put a bug deep down in my head that maybe bipolars don’t survive. It’s not an “if” but more of a “when” they kill themselves.
I have my rock – Peter. And I hope you can find yours
I will always try my hardest to be a rock for anyone, especially my kids.
YOU CAN’T DO THIS ALONE.
I am here.
Can you hear me back there?!
I AM HERE.
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8 Jun 2018
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June 8, 2018
I’m terrified.
When I was in high school, my bipolar swings were so drastic, that nothing really made any sense.
My lows were so low that every day I woke up thinking, “well, if the car doesn’t start(the front door jams, the cat looks at me wrong, etc.), I guess that’s a sign I should kill myself.” But not in a dramatic way, it’s just everything was so blasé, nihilistic. Life didn’t matter, I was just too much a coward to do anything about it.
A friend of a friend killed himself when I was in 11th grade (he was too) and his funeral was down the road from my house (we lived out in the sticks by a massive graveyard.), and the entire day I was so upset and bawling because he was able to be free and I couldn’t do it.
Of course I had crazy stupid highs, but this isn’t about that.
This is about explaining how low, and pointless it gets when you are sick.
It’s not something that you can turn off or just feel better about.
I only live for my kids.
The day I found out I was pregnant with Andy, was the day my brain said “suicide is no longer an option for you”. My rationale was that if I “escape”. Then all that says to my kids is There is this option.
No, there isn’t.
You hold on, you get professional help, you cling to anything and you fight through it.
Which are easy fucking words, I know. But it’s the repetitiveness of these words that gets you through and gets you to someone, anyone, when you need it.
I don’t get that low anymore, thank you hormones, but my lows are still nihilistic and scary.
After just coming out of a three year
mania, that I didn’t even know I was in until after the fact, I am terrified of falling so deep that I won’t know that death is not an option.
My love for my children and what my actions say to them is so fucking strong, but even that, I’m worried, may get clouded. Our brains are so fucking deceitful.
So, I’m terrified.
These past two well known suicides just remind me that and put a bug deep down in my head that maybe bipolars don’t survive. It’s not an “if” but more of a “when” they kill themselves.
I have my rock – Peter. And I hope you can find yours
I will always try my hardest to be a rock for anyone, especially my kids.
YOU CAN’T DO THIS ALONE.
I am here.
Can you hear me back there?!
I AM HERE.
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