It’s been a while we are friends- me and my bipolar; our friendship has not been very long, perhaps a little more than a decade. People say they get used to their situation, but I haven’t. I still feel the highs, the anxiety associated with it, and the trauma that it brings. I miss my normal self. In my lows, I do realize I am depressed, and I want to be happy. I do not want to kill myself, I have never; but there have been times when I had to fight the thought of killing myself. (Thankfully, that phase is over now, hopefully forever.) And, thanks to- I don’t exactly know whom- my family and friends, doctors, or my own will to survive- things seem to be a little better. Though, still there are times when I feel panics, I want to thrash my head against the wall- not to hurt myself but to exit the situation, the pumping heart loud enough to make anyone insane (I still am sane though). But it is ok.. (Actually not so ok). I sit here and write this in the middle of night, unable to sleep, or think. The brain is so active, thoughts are racing and I can’t catch any. So I decided to capture them from their very flight. I write about my bipolar.
…Sahar Raman Deep
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