bighPolar Day 2

With my level of education, experience, and abilities why would I even bother sticking around for this long, or better yet why don’t I leave this moment? The truth is that I’m addicted to material things such as my vehicle that has been “given” (not really) to me. What is even more unusual is the fact that it just sits there, unused for the most part. Truthfully it is the only thing keeping me from re-checking into the hospital simply to have space from all of the sick, selfish, and codependent people that surround me. The reality of it is that I cannot accept that getting healthy (being out of this home) immediately requires for me to leave behind the one possession I have that isn’t even mine to begin with. I am not brave enough to enter the world without it. Facing friends, or the city I grew up in with nothing to show is not an option for me. I absolutely refuse to give any person the satisfaction of saying “I told you so” because I was not wrong to dream nor was I wrong about life. I haven’t had a single thing handed to me like the people I was encouraged to be around, my advice and insight into markets alone was enough to make my entire family wealthy and the only mistake I made was to waste my time and breath trying to explain it to them. Even with proof in front of their own eyes it they still stare with an dumb founded look as if I’m the crazy one.

Why didn’t I move out when I had the chance and credit to? Instead of applauding my success in my career of being a financial sector only 20 credit was never given to me by friends or family. Instead they somehow managed to find a way to belittle what they thought was such an “incredible” position I in their eyes somehow “managed” to end up in. They still refer back to it as if it were some miraculous job that I should have never let go of in the midst of their backwards and illogical rationale.

My mother has more drugs pumped into her body than pharmacy’s can keep up with and I’m supposed to trust her? She is one of the biggest addicts I have ever encountered in my entire life wasting her life away at clinics and casinos. I guess I do love her but her life long attraction to prescription drugs meant I was virtually born addicted to not only that but smoking as well. She has never been held accountable for any of her destructive, selfish, addictive, and violent behaviour and stops at absolutely NOTHING to hide, avoid, and protect her disgraceful way of life while my father sits back and fuels her fire saving his outbursts for me. I did need medication to keep me leveled through the reality of this all but know for a fact my actions, ambitions, goals, and plans were/ are much saner than theirs which is the one element that infuriates me more than any words can articulate.


Blog Day 1

If I could only express the pain that runs through me when I am suffering from a low similar to what I am feeling this moment perhaps I could begin to move forward. I’m tired of settling for so little and especially hearing that I should be content or set “realistic” expectations of myself from those around me when they are oblivious to my capacities, talents, gifts, abilities and level of education.

I don’t care if my standards are too high because quite frankly I have spent the first 27 years of my life blindly swimming in misery – both my own and my family’s often made up sadness. By made up I mean a collective addiction to the cloud of darkness that we continuously followed – one that I chase until this moment. In other words I feel as if I’m entitled to happiness and success because I have given but suffered so much.

In the 27 years of my life not once was I able to genuinely love, care, or enjoy much of any happiness. Happy thoughts were artificial and in short spurts as if joy was a drug, a quick fix or escape from a mind filled with hopeless, dark thoughts of nothing. It feels as if I have been conditioned to eliminate every joyful thought with a bombardment of multiple “negative” ones. Frustration, anger, rage, sadness, codependency, and isolation are just some words that marginally express every day, usually even every hour of my life. I can accept that for an outsider this may come across as childish and truthfully I might even agree, however it does not change how I feel. I understand I’m fortunate to have a roof over my head, and the “support” of my family, but again, try getting that through to my mind or heart.

The fact that friends and most people in general have had many loving, intimate relationships around me makes me feel like a child in an adults body trying to catch up on 27 years of wasted time. How can I be happy when I have come to the realisation that I haven’t been given the opportunity to live, laugh, or play nor am I capable of even forcing myself to if that’s even possible. I cannot do anything to control the anger that takes control of my body and mind every time I picture my parents telling me that they gave me everything because it is so untrue. I am not absurd enough to assume that parents don’t make mistakes, but the degree, longevity, denial, and attempt to cover up the reality of the past and present still infuriates me. The way our “cultural background” was used as a justification for so many senseless behaviours the same way it was conveniently to blame infuriates me beyond any way I can articulate. When not so low I can manage to see the fortune in coming to the realisation of this before I began a family but still hardly capable of accepting just how much of my life has passed. I was not able to be a kid, teenager, have a girlfriend or even enjoy a single weekend without it being intruded on by often unhealthy or outright sick people which was usually my family. I have been the emotional crutch or backbone for all of them but if you were to tell any one of them this they would quickly reject it drawing attention to my lack of mental well-being somehow managing to ignore my value and strength. 

My life has been consumed by either babysitting unhealthy family members or being the target of belittling attitude – often being compared to those with less intellect, courage, strength and accomplishments. I was never allowed to live for me and until this very second my energy and emotions must be given to those around me as if I have any left to spare.

My Bipolar Rollarcoaster

I am a 27 year old man trying to cope at the lowest depths of the bottom of my life two months into my formal diagnosis of this disorder.  That should be a fair warning for any of those expecting a story with a happy ending or solution to my misery – this is a depiction of the shear misery, anguish, and mental agony my mind drowns itself in daily.

I do not expect anyone to feel sorry for me any longer does my mind or body yet fully accept full responsibility for the shadow of darkness that has been cast over my emotions.  I am aware now it is only me that can help me but unfortunately I still cannot see the light to happiness, comfort, freedom, or true success.

Whether you agree with my writings expressing my life, feelings, thoughts and emotions is not what is at question here because most might assume they have a simple answers, explanations, or solutions but my mind in this state will never accept them.