My cat is the only reason I haven’t killed myself.

Sad but true.

I guess it’s been a while.

I wish I could say a lot has happened, but it hasn’t.  I must admit the nothingness was quite welcome. I was so…stable. 

I felt like a normal human being. My moods were somewhat hypomanic, but not depressive. I was productive. I started working out again. Eating right. Seeing a therapist weekly and dealing with my shit. Laughing. Smiling. Washing my hair and wearing sun dresses. The past few weeks were blissful.

I questioned my bipolar diagnosis. They were all wrong! They screwed up with me. I was just going through something…but it wasn’t bipolar! I don’t need any meds! Look, I’m normal. I don’t need help.

And then the wave hit and it all fell a part.

This is the most depressed I’ve been in about a month. I feel like an idiot for thinking that this was something I could just get over.

In reality, I haven’t truly accepted my diagnosis.

I saw the psychiatrist today and he said he feels that I am closer to bipolar I than II. He wants to put me on Lithium. (I’m currently on no meds.)

I had rationalized, up to that point, that being bipolar II was “less crazy” than bipolar I. I was okay with meds, long as it was Lamictal/ something mild. My session with the MD threw me for a loop.

I don’t know what to think. He advised me to get a second opinion but silly me, I thought HE WAS THE SECOND OPINION! (My therapist/MD, who originally diagnosed me being the first).

Im so sick of this. I don’t want to try. I don’t think I can keep going. I don’t want to go through life like this anymore. I can’t accept this as my future.

It’s funny. I’m not even sad right now.

I’m numb.

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