I was a young lady who muddled her way through this world. Lost in bizarre depression and mood disorder, with a heavy load on my shoulders, I was uncertain about the direction of my future. I had thoughts of suicide from a very young age and much of my time was spent either contemplating suicide or experimenting with it.
Plummeting into darkness on occasion made me a burden. When insomnia attacks, I get frustrated and the anxiety builds up — that deep gut feeling where everything is my fault. It’s 3 A.M. and I think about all the times people have promised me that things will get better. But they don’t.
I’m in the office with the psychiatrist and he diagnoses me with the “bad medicine.” He tells me it works for manic-depressive symptoms in children. It was the dark purple kind. In other words — bipolar. But my mood disorder is not that heavily diagnosed yet.
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