Bipolar life- The Journal #79, No one knows..


Every day is a blur. My mood swings on the pendulum with smooth motion. That’s all they see. I live in a house filled with people who refuse to acknowledge the truth. I am done. Mom, wife, housekeeper, cook, shopper, accountant, whatever they want to call me- is finished.

No one knows. They don’t know the internet searches I’ve done, the tears I’ve cried, the insomnia I’ve endured alone. I considered driving myself to a hospital for help, to a clinic, to anywhere. I thought about driving to the airport to fly away or driving off into the night. I did that a couple months ago, no one noticed I left the house.

I am surrounded by those I love, but they don’t know me. They haven’t recognized my struggle, acknowledged my sadness, some don’t even apologize for their wrongs. I no longer have confidence in this life, and I pull away daily.

My prayer life is stronger than ever as I plead to go home. I have a profound understanding of the love of the Father. It consumes me these days. In this messy life, He remains constant and true. In my desire to go, He doesn’t ridicule or shame, but listens. I am safe if I keep looking toward Jesus. I am no longer safe in this world.

I thought about reaching out to someone today, but there is no one. I feel the distance from every person I would usually seek help from. I don’t get the feeling anyone wants to be part of the rerun. So, I climb into my bubble, keep it all inside, and lose my mind. People say they’d rather help then have to remember us when we’re gone. I think that’s bologna.

As I battle this depression, I worry about surviving. No one knows. They have no idea the extent of my desire to be done and the hope of leaving. I feel guilty for wanting out, for the hurt I may cause, for leaving people behind. I feel shame for letting it go this far. I allowed myself to die before I am dead.

Every day is a mystery. I am unrecognizable. I long for peace but never live in it, I never have. I told my bestfriend the other day I must be cursed, or ‘un’-blessed? Is that possible?

I want to go home, get out, be done, leave this world. It holds nothing for me. The world has been a pain in my ass from the get go.

I wish I could lie and write some amazing, inspiring words of wisdom tonight. I don’t fake it, my friend. Authentic truths are what flows freely from my thoughts. Even in the muddy waters of mental illness, I would rather bring you reality than fluff.


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