Share your story here. Ha.
It’s awful not to know who or what or how to trust.
It’s awful not to know if or when or how to believe.
It’s awful to not know what’s real and what isn’t.
Bipolar disorder is hateful and I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.
It’s not cute. It’s not “Manic Pixie Dream Girl.”
It’s not “ermahgerd I found myself lol.” “Haha lookit me, i’m bipolar and demiromantic and semibisexual.” No, honey, you’re just lacking in hobbies and overdosing on prefixes. Press 7 in the elevator.
It’s severe paranoia. It’s everyone faking being nice to you. It’s not being good enough. It’s knowing you’re never going to be fixed.
It’s never knowing, after you’ve shared your diagnosis, if the one you’re talking to is genuine. It’s assuming everyone is 2nd guessing you. It’s assuming everyone is underestimating you.
It’s never knowing what is the right thing to do. It’s never knowing the feeling of certainty.
It’s never knowing if anyone will see it or care. 7 billion of us. Most of us aren’t worth remembering.
Incendiary Kitty 