There was a time, just recently, where I thought to myself I am loved.
I am wanted. I would be missed. I need to start doing things that make me happy.
It was just hours before I came close to dying. The hospital staff had been in with the Do Not Resuscitate papers and asked if I wanted to see a Priest.
No one could reach my family.
I thought for a frightening minute this is how it was suppose to be. Me dying alone.
My sister came running in shaking and crying. She held me like my mom used to and told me it was ok.
My sister in law came and told me she loved me.
My best friend came with her mom, both with tears streaming down their faces.
I was happy for the first time in a long time.
The doctors were able to save me for the time being.
This was in July and since then everything has gone back to the way it was.
No more hugs from my sister. She just yells at me to get “Your shit together!”.
No calls returned from my sister in law.
No interaction with my best friend.
And my dog died.
So the happiness of living and wanting to live disappeared. The Black Hole Of Bipolar came and swallowed me up.
I called my sister yesterday to hear her voice. I asked her to please just do one thing. Just tell me you love me. Instead I got a backlash of how I’m not normal and need help. How it isn’t fair that I hold everyone hostage with my illness. I hung up on her.
Yesterday all I wanted was a hug, some human kindness. I begged, I pleaded, my dad walked away.
How many bricks need to fall on my head? How can I not feel unwanted, unloved? How can they not see how close they are to losing me?
I am ready to leave. Go anywhere that isn’t here.
I know I’m supposed to pretend everything is fine. I was never good at pretending. Do you know what FINE means? Fucked-up, Irrational, Neurotic, Emotional. So I guess I’m fine. And yeah I stole that from The Great Steven Tyler.