Mikulal1995
A bipolar, depressive mess.
- Jul 15, 2018
- 38
What I like about this forum is that I can finally write about suicide without sounding alarm bells and receiving threats of forced hospitalizations and police welfare checks. I've been through it all: hospitals, medication, treatment, self-encouragement, everything. I don't have too much time now so I'm going to try and condense my plight. Nobody likes to read a long-ass rant about why they're going off themselves, right? So there, I've written a full paragraph of nothing. I guess I should mention that I'm 22 years old, gay, and male. Sucks to be gay.
At the of last year I went manic, a symptom of bipolar disorder, and my life went to utter and complete disaster. Now, my life is a shambles. I decided to use all of my credit cards to buy airfare and travel abroad. While there I managed to total not one, but two car rentals. I don't know how I didn't die. I wish I had. Through this period of insanity I had sex with strange men (I never had fun; no experience was enjoyable), went on absurd shopping sprees. I left the United States with one suitcase and returned with five. Now, you can imagine the extent to which my credit card bills rose. Mania left me destitute. I have to declare bankruptcy now, further fucking up my future.
Upon my return to the United States I was arrested for breaking a window at my dad's house (for which I'm going to court— six months after!), and later hospitalized in the psychiatric wards of two different hospitals. For the most part medication was terrible and I don't know why I didn't lose myself in the midst.
So why, might you ask, haven't I done it?
I've been thinking about killing myself since I was 10 years old, and lived in another country. I still have dreams: I want to finish my degree, I want to read more and more books, and I want a chance at having friends again. I also worry about doing it wrong and ending up in the looney bin again.
Little by little all hope is leaving my being. I'm expected to re-start college in September, find a new job (because I lost the job I'd had for three years on campus because of my bipolar disorder), and pretend life is dandy. But it ain't dandy. I'm completely fucked up, and now I'm even more fucked up. Before I used to be the depressed kid. Now I'm the guy everyone knows went nuts and had to spend time in the psych ward. I live with my grandparents now because my dad couldn't deal with and I'm scared to kill myself because I don't want to hurt my grandmother. But I know this has to end.
Last July I had an epiphany: I knew I had to end it before next July. July 31 marks the deadline. I apologize for the incoherent rambling.
At the of last year I went manic, a symptom of bipolar disorder, and my life went to utter and complete disaster. Now, my life is a shambles. I decided to use all of my credit cards to buy airfare and travel abroad. While there I managed to total not one, but two car rentals. I don't know how I didn't die. I wish I had. Through this period of insanity I had sex with strange men (I never had fun; no experience was enjoyable), went on absurd shopping sprees. I left the United States with one suitcase and returned with five. Now, you can imagine the extent to which my credit card bills rose. Mania left me destitute. I have to declare bankruptcy now, further fucking up my future.
Upon my return to the United States I was arrested for breaking a window at my dad's house (for which I'm going to court— six months after!), and later hospitalized in the psychiatric wards of two different hospitals. For the most part medication was terrible and I don't know why I didn't lose myself in the midst.
So why, might you ask, haven't I done it?
I've been thinking about killing myself since I was 10 years old, and lived in another country. I still have dreams: I want to finish my degree, I want to read more and more books, and I want a chance at having friends again. I also worry about doing it wrong and ending up in the looney bin again.
Little by little all hope is leaving my being. I'm expected to re-start college in September, find a new job (because I lost the job I'd had for three years on campus because of my bipolar disorder), and pretend life is dandy. But it ain't dandy. I'm completely fucked up, and now I'm even more fucked up. Before I used to be the depressed kid. Now I'm the guy everyone knows went nuts and had to spend time in the psych ward. I live with my grandparents now because my dad couldn't deal with and I'm scared to kill myself because I don't want to hurt my grandmother. But I know this has to end.
Last July I had an epiphany: I knew I had to end it before next July. July 31 marks the deadline. I apologize for the incoherent rambling.
Last edited: