I remember when they told me I was sick. The doctor so confidently told me he could cure me. I stayed with him for a few years while I only got worse. I can’t be cured. I can be taught to deal with the symptoms, and take six pills a day to lesson it all. I also found out my life expectancy is 10-20 years less than the average adult woman. Yeah, that still puts tons of years before me and death, but I’m only 22 now. It’s hard to know that everything I’ve experienced in these 22 years is another amount of experience I am losing. Life is hard, and all this just adds another challenge no one can understand. I have so many bad days. My boss asked me last week how I could be so frustrated, but it had nothing to do with work. I was just so frustrated with everyone who has failed me, my situation, the uncontrollable paranoia. I don’t know. I just hit a phase, as always. And took it out on everything. 

I was in a terrible car accident a few days ago. Obviously, I’m alive. It was my fault. I couldn’t think that morning. I even grabbed my razor instead of my toothbrush that morning. The plastic cap was on it so I didn’t shave my gums off. Driving to work was just mistake after mistake… I missed so many turns, ended up on the busy road I always avoid, and had a usual westport asshole sitting on my tail beeping his horn in his fancy convertible car. I needed a left to get into my work parking lot. He wouldn’t stop beeping and I just didn’t even think and tried to speed into the turn. My car tipped a little. Coffee was all over my laptop. My head was in the window. The hit was on the passenger side, so here I am. We both went to the emergency room and our cars were towed away to the crappiest lot around. I don’t really know if I had a point to share that. But it’s hard. I don’t want to be so distracted and upset, lonely, lost, hopeless. But it takes everything in me sometimes. It’s so consuming. And it’s dangerous. That other woman could have died because I can’t hold my own. 

I tried to date someone recently too. I mentioned I was bipolar, and basically he thinks it means I’m violent and hostile. It’s just so wrong. And hurtful. Sure, I can be unstable. But i have never raised my voice in my life. I’ve never wished ill on anyone, even if i’m disappointed in how I can’t connect with anyone. To be described as violent and hostile is probably one of the worst things anyone has said to me. And I’ve spent my childhood being bullied. I thought that part of life was over, but I guess not. Is that what people think of me? That I’ll hurt them? 

I don’t think i have a shot at living the life Id want to have anymore. No matter if I start to look up, I end up being wrong in the world. 

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