A much needed farewell

You left me to die. Literally. 

You broke my heart and had the nerve to say I broke yours. 

You left because I was sick and had no control, 

but you didn’t care. 

You turned everyone against me and made me the only bad guy. 

Yeah, I did my dirt, but what about you? 


You weren’t perfect. You left me for dead, remember? 

I’ve been blaming myself for years, for something that wasn’t entirely my fault, 

it takes two to tell a lie. 

I cried over you. 

I cried for you. 

I hurt myself because of you. 

I hated myself for you. 

I wanted to die because of you, 

yet, I’m still sorry for something I didn’t do. 

You will never see me like you did before. 

I can’t come to terms with that. 

I thought I couldn’t cope without you, 

but here I am,

learning to cope without you.

You’re no longer something I need, just something I thought I wanted. 

And well, 

that isn’t good enough for me anymore. 

You’re dead to me. 

I don’t need you anymore. 

I know you wish I were dead, and although I don’t wish you were dead, you are, in fact, dead, 

to me. 

You were my everything, yet you threw me away like I was nothing. 

You didn’t look back, 

not once. 

You saw me at my worst and couldn’t handle it. 

I wondered for years why I ended up not being good enough for you, 

turns out, I was never good enough for you, 

nor will I ever be. 

This is me letting you go. 

I hurt enough for the both of us, 

but if I’m going to make it out alive, I need to be rid of you.

Im finally free.

Goodbye, for good.


Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash


I have Bipolar Disorder

I have bipolar Disorder. Wow, coming out as having Bipolar II Disorder is hands down one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. My mom had a suspicion, for years, when I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder a few years ago. I remember her pointing out to me that I was bipolar, but I thought she was just joking because sometimes I could go from ecstatic to suicidal in under 5 minutes. The ecstatic portion is known as mania, but with bipolar II, it’s just known as hypomania, where I’ve never experienced a full manic episode, but was close to it. I also don’t have manic episodes that often, but when I do, I’m very impulsive, can’t form full thoughts sentences without getting sidetracked onto another topic totally not related. Most times I don’t even notice until someone tells me to back up and finish the first story first. I just assumed my highs were my medications working, and a part of it is my medication, but the impulsive actions and buying things that I could not afford, and putting myself and my family at risk, was the Bipolar Disorder. When I have my hypomanic episodes, it’s scary because I don’t feel like myself. I feel overly happy, but not the “regular” kind of happy. It feels like I’m on some type of drug that speeds up my nervous system and it isn’t fun.  

Having meltdowns one minute, and then the next I’m hysterically laughing is an imbalance that’s indescribable. It’s something you’ll only understand, if you experience it first-hand. It puts a turmoil on you and the people around you. They have to adjust to your mood swings and practically walk on eggshells so they can figure out what does and does not set you off. I was in denial that I had bipolar disorder and being put on the medication for it only made it even more real. I haven’t told anyone yet, so this is a pretty raw blog post that you all get to read for the first time. I didn’t tell anyone because I was ashamed, I didn’t want it to be real, but it is, and there is no hiding it. I don’t like to talk about it because it’s just a different side of myself that I can’t cope with, but have to learn to be patient with.  

Getting diagnosed has helped me be more aware of my impulsivity that has gotten me into scary situations before. It has helped me be more self-aware of my mood swings and control my reactions to certain situations. Of course, the medicine is here to help, but I am in control of my own reactions and happiness. This recovery journey is getting harder and harder, and most days I feel like I’m going to relapse, but it’s okay if I do. As long as I can get back up and continue on. This isn’t the end.  


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