One full year later...

“I always hated when my scars started to fade, because as long as I could still see them, I knew why I was hurting.”
― Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care 

I feel like I am spiraling out of control. Why, when things are finally going so right, do I feel so, lost? Am I that self-destructive? Do I need to just face the reality that maybe I am the type of person who just can’t be happy? I feel a break coming.  My cycling between mania and depression has found a way to so cleverly disguise itself; my bipolar disorder has become a parasite and I am the host.  I used to be able to decipher when I was cycling, now, I feel like I have inadvertently found a way to no longer admit that that is the problem.  “I’m not depressed, I am situationally upset. I am not Manic; I am just excited for these amazing things happening.”

Yeah, right.

I tell people that I am working so hard to get back to who I once was.  But who was that?

I was manipulative

I was selfish

I was a liar

I still am.

But, here’s the scary part

I’m better at it now. It’s a truth I hate, but a truth nonetheless.

It’s eating me alive from the inside out.

Is it my conscience? I don’t think I even have one anymore so that can’t be right.

It’s the sheer exhaustion of playing into this sick delusion I have created for myself.

My miserable fucking life is all my own creation.

Is it possible to just move forward?

To just live life normally from here on out?

Who would the truth really hurt?

Not me.  The fallout would be a just punishment.

But it would hurt him.

He doesn’t deserve that kind of pain.

Telling him would be just another selfish act, torching the life of yet another person who dared to care for me.

Why am I like this?  Why can’t it stop? 

I just want to be someone deserving of all of the great things that people want to offer me. The love, the friendship, the encouragement.

Yet I feel somehow I will never be deserving of it.

That ship sailed long ago for me.

I’m not living anymore, that ended so long ago I believe.

Im just existing.  And I will continue to merely exist until one day, I just don’t anymore.

My passionate longing for that day to come both frightens and excites me. 

I’m not suicidal. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself.

I just want to not be alive anymore.

To not exist.

I want to close my eyes one day and just float away like ashes in the wind.

How do I explain this to people?

How do I tell them that no matter how much they love me, no matter how hard they work to make me feel needed, wanted, exceptional, that it just doesn’t matter?

It’s like spitting in the face of the people I care about.

I want to sit alone in a quiet room and cry until I am empty.

Until my mind no longer races.

I just want to feel peace.