a bipolar existence

# This piece was originally titled, "2.30, baby, won't you meet me by the bean?" after a line from Chicago Freestyle by Drake and Giveon.

// two pieces of writing in one day? who am i?

i got diagnosed 4 months ago. well, technically in november, so i've known about being bipolar for quite some time now. i've been very open about it, or at least, used to be. not anymore, though. turns out people will use this against you. but that's a different conversation.

anyway, if that happened so long ago, why do thoughts of my diagnosis, and the knowledge that i am stuck with this disorder for life, still continue to emotionally paralyse me to the point where i can't get out of bed anymore?

messages that keep me alive. i love you, my friend.

i tried to kill myself last week. again. i know, it's so funny. it's literally the same story with me every time. woe is me and whatnot. it wasn't the worst. nothing i can't take. i thought i'd do my makeup, look at myself in the mirror, realise that i'm hot shit and attend the meetings and classes that i had to, but the entire time i couldn't stop telling myself how much i hated every small thing about myself. my brain wouldn't stop screaming and yelling and shouting, and i couldn't get out of it.

it's me. how do i escape myself?

i cut myself, and now my arms look like sausages. then i cut the insides of my palms, just to see what that would feel like. i also punched my walls, and broke my knuckles. it was a little too visible, and so i spent a whole week or so with wraps around my arms and hands. people asked me what that was about. i just told them that they were boxing injuries.

that same day, i went out to dinner with my friends. neither of them had any clue that i had cut myself; they didn't see anything and my behaviour was not out of the ordinary. it's funny how even when i'm dying, i'm so alive. life of the party, really. i'm a brilliant pretender.

that week, i almost dropped out of a project that i worked on for 8 weeks. i almost didn't show up to the final event. we won 2nd prize, and i would've missed that because my brain is hellbent on never cooperating. my brain has ruined so many good things for me. my illness is stealing my life away from me, and i can do nothing about it.

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i thought the worst was behind me after that. i genuinely believed that i was upset because a situation would just not resolve itself. i was convinced that if only i could get some closure and be done with that chapter in my life, i would be fine and dandy. that somehow, magically, my life would go back to being perfect.

that situation has been sorted. it went exactly as i had hoped it would, perhaps a lot better than i could've hoped, and i'm very happy about it. i don't have any external stressors in my life right now, other than my coursework. my relationships with other people seem to be fine, even though i can't believe that i have the people that i have in my life. did you know that some of them like me so much that they'd like to have me at their place for a sleepover? and some of them adore me so much that they trust me with their entire lives, that i'm the first person they call when they just need to talk to someone?

i can't believe that, at all. it all feels like a grand prank being played on me, and one day someone's going to show me that the cameras were all around me. i was just too blind to see them.

if everything is so good, then why am i still in this depressive funk?

i was talking to a friend, and he mentioned that he thinks i feel adrift, stuck and unsatisfied with something in my life. he's not wrong; i have never felt more lost and frustrated in my life, i don't think. i mean, i really shouldn't be surprised; this is what bipolar disorder looks like. when the highs come about, i am a powerhouse. when the lows inevitably hit, i can't breathe anymore.

one day, this disorder is going to be the reason i die. this is going to spell my end. i am going to be fully aware of it as i slowly step towards the inevitable. the worst part is that i will never be able to do anything to stop it.

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i am currently depressed, i think. i have been sleeping a lot more than i usually do. i have isolated myself from the world and barely go to classes. i was looking forward to training at the gym with my trainer; i've been waiting for today the entire week since i got my gloves, and i skipped that. i haven't been eating, at all, even when i'm hungry as hell. my best friend calls me everyday, but i can't talk to him anymore the way i used to. my dad texted me, and i know he wants to see me, but i can't even bring myself to call him. my room is a whole mess; my shoes are everywhere and i constantly trip over them, but i can't bring myself to do anything about any of this.

all i do is rot by myself, in the dark, in silence, and go through old pictures and conversations with my people. there are multiple people whose messages i reply to when they text me, but they would never be able to tell how i'm feeling now because i'm just so good at presenting a false version of myself.

i need to be rescued from myself. damsel in distress, and whatnot. i can't do this anymore.

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what a strange, sad existence. what a pathetic little insignificant life. what a terrible, awful person.