I called the suicide hotline last night (yea, on Christmas) and poured my heart out to a girl named Denise for 44 minutes. I didn’t know who else to call when on the highway thinking about flooring it, closing my eyes and letting go of the wheel; especially when your friends write you off because you and your life are too much for them. I didn’t ask to be bipolar. I didn’t ask to be molested, raped, and brutally mind fucked for years to the point where I can’t function mentally 100%. I certainly didn’t choose to have to internalize it and have it resurface during the most difficult time of my life, having just lost a baby and also losing my mom.

I have a lot of baggage indeed, but most of it I’ve dealt with and accepted and turned into testimony, granted over 15 years of counseling. I have a tendency to be emotional when I’m left. It fucks me up terribly. It makes me feel like something is wrong with me even when I know better. Ok yea, I’m a lot to deal with as a human. I’m depressed, manic, combative, impulsive, isolated, promiscuous, hippie-ish, spiritual, outspoken and introvert all at the same time…years, months, weeks, days or even minutes apart. I can understand how someone couldn’t or wouldn’t want to deal with that, but it hurts because despite all that, I’m a good person, and I don’t do that to people I care about. But everyone is not me.

Denise was nice. I told her everything I was feeling. I told her I thought about cutting my wheel as far left as I could into the opposite side of I-65 going Northbound or driving directly into a ditch and she didn’t judge me. She listened to me tell her about how friends and family have abandoned me. She listened to me talk about my mom and Stormii and the outstanding amount of fear and failure and disappointment I feel. I cried through explaining how bipolar effects my life and no one understands. She was patient, she was kind and she listened.

Listening is important for me. Mostly because the thoughts in my head are running rapid like a constantly uploading Twitter feed. If I’m able to talk it out, the racing thoughts subside a bit, which lessens the anxiety that causes me to want to end it all.

I don’t want to die. I love me. I love who I am, and it took me a long time to get there. It has nothing to do with that, it’s just the illness. But my life is indeed stressful enough for me to want to kills myself and escape the madness inside my head. There’s times when I’m so full of life and have so much planned for myself and my future and I feel fantastic. I’m goofy and fun and loving and giving and carefree. And, there’s also times where I’m dark, cold, heartless, mean, rude and empty and those feelings literally can change on the minute or the hour or the day or the month. That’s the part that sucks about it…not knowing when it’s coming.

She talked me down. She mostly listened and asked me questions that no one bothers to because from the outside looking in, it would seem that I have it all together. That’s the rough part about being strong, no one thinks you’re ever weak so they always think you’re ok. Most times I’m not ok.

I got the feelings out of my head and we got off the phone. I still had about 45 minutes or so left before I got home. I sat there wiping my tears and thinking about the last time I was truly happy on my own. Jersey. I remembered riding down 1 and 9 to and from work and everyday at around 5:15p when I got off, Hot 96 would play “Royals” by Lorde. That song made me nostalgic. I had not a care in the world. Something about that girl just saying real random shit to a dope beat spoke to me. That song WAS me. It made me feel good. There’s really no way of explaining it. So, I turned it on and drove the rest of the way home feeling better. Feeling like I could make it one more day, because that’s all we can do.

I’m back in my black hole. I’ve shut myself off from the world in order to…I actually don’t know what the goal is. I kind of just hate everyone and feel like I can’t trust anyone with my feelings anymore. I think people mistake my transparency as a plea for attention, and it’s not that way. I just realize that there are people hurting out there who need to know they are not alone. Our story is not ours, it’s to glorify God with by sharing and helping others see how he can bring us out of darkness. I still step foot in caves occasionally…deep in them; I travel and get lost in them. But God always brings me out. I thank Him everyday for keeping me when I don’t want to be kept…like when I want my life to end…but that can’t happen. I haven’t had a chance for it to begin. Today, I’m grateful I’m here…not happy, but praying I will get there.

Suicide Hotline: 1 (800) 273-8255


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