Fighting bi polar sucks. At the moment I want the luxury of sinking into madness. I long for the hospital I stayed in once in the 1990s in the UK. I was free to be mad there. It was very expensive and I could do as many crazy/arty things as I wanted. Food was good too. It was in a beautiful old mansion near Reading. I was by no means the sickest person there, they said, but pretty close I think. When my money ran out I went to Maudsley in South London. OMG what a depressing place, crikey if you weren't mad when you went there you would be soon afterwards.
This week has been hard, hard, hard. Work is a nightmare. High stress levels which really help a person fighting off a full manic episode. I'm back on mood stabilisers again, they add kilos and turn you into an emotional zombie. Great life quality.
I have a compelling urge to cut my throat. I don't feel deeply depressed. I just feel sick of dealing with Bi Polar. I haven't felt such a strong urge to end me for as long as I can remember. But you can't. Too selfish for family and friends left behind. Loved ones of suicides are 9 times more likley to suicide apparently, and so the legacy would continue. I love my family and friends too much to do that to them. But I resent it.
I pretend at work sometimes that I suffer from migraines, so people think the reason I am so vague or aggressive is because of that. I once outed myself at another work place and it was a MASSIVE mistake. If you have a mental illness outing yourself is a complete and utter mistake. No matter what the OHS policy is, people use it against you and are constantly looking for evidence of your illness. So my advice, after 35 years of living with mental illness is don't tell your work colleagues. NONE of them.
I won't kill myself tonight. I wish I could sleep though. I have taken valium and stillnox and here I am, awake and zombied out.
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