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timounkalot
280 M Embraced 2
PathStep 4 Compassion hearts52 Forum posts6 Forum upvotes7 Current upvotes7 Age GroupAdult Last activeOctober, 2022 Member sinceFebruary 16, 2021
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Journals & Diaries / by timounkalot
Last post
 March 4th, 2022
...See more The title of this post is the word my mom uses for people who talk too much, always running their mouth, always complaining, always talking about something or someone. And I guess I'm doing this because I'm nervous; it's my first therapy session in a year, I have to speak to someone I didn't want at first and it's not even in person, which was something I greatlt desired. This virtual stuff is not for me. I feel like something is starved in my spirit when I have to be alone. It's pathetic, that I desperately want someone to share in this with me. I know I am bipolar II, but I always end up seeking help when I feel fine and I hate that because when I'm in a crisis I can't seem to get the help I need. I just hurt myself over an over again. And I've managed this my whole life-- thankfully I've only experienced hypomania, not a real manic episode, because I am so incredibly paranoid that they'll lock me away and medicate me and my life will be empty and without meaning because I will be disqualified from the race I already struggled so hard to even become qualified to compete in. Already, the way I am treated by my superiors and my family has drastically changed, and for the worse. No one believes what I say anymore. When I say I am fine, they nod and smile like I am a child while sharing looks of concern over my head. So, when I am depressed or hypomanic, I hide instead, and self-sabotage, and when I feel like I am normal again I return to all my progress unmade and my affairs in ruins. I feel like I am living a double life, where there's crazy, depressed me who is invincible or suicidal and nothing in between, and the person I am supposed to be, the well-adjusted young woman who goes to work and school and takes care of herself because no one else ever will. I wonder how it is that I can feel so much compassion for other people-- I can understand ad accomodate other people's personal battles with mental health, but I? I am fine. The words I say to myself are the kind of words I would never tolerate from anyone else; not to my friends or strangers. I call myself crazy and stupid and useless, I say to myself, "Why can't you just get yourself together? Why is this so hard? Look at how much you've failed. Look at how ugly you are, no wonder no one desires you. Look at how pathetic, how poor, how stupid, how useless, how delusional you are to think that you were smart/determined/qualified/ABLE to pursue such a lofty dream. You deserve to fail." And I am a failure; moreover, a coward-- if I were truly set in my ways, I should've been dead three years ago.
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