August 13, 2002
True Life: It Sucks

I don�t think it�s incredibly fair that I have to put up with all of this. I�m 14 years old. I�ve got through more medical problems in a month than some people have in their whole lives. I�m not sure what all of this is for. I think it�s rather ridiculous. Couldn�t it have been postponed a few years, when I will be stronger and more mentally stable?

I was watching the True Life: I�m Bipolar special on MTV again today. I was listening to all the symptoms. Severe mood swings, suicidal attempts, talking to yourself, hearing and seeing things that aren�t really there. And it�s interesting. Two hours ago I was happy. I was feeling fine, nothing hurt, and nothing seemed to be going wrong. Suddenly, things just went downhill. I�m experiencing a lot of pain in my mouth right now, which is making it difficult to type and see the screen. I teased myself with suicide� again. It�s sort of become a game with me. Playing Chicken with life and death. I caught myself muttering hopelessly about 10 minutes ago. "I�m fine, I�m fine, just let it all go, nothing is wrong with me, I�m fine�" I suppose I was telling myself that. Just trying to reassure myself.

Nearly everyone responded to my "leave me here to die" away message (taken from Lilo and Stitch, mind you) with "Are you mad at me?" Just because I wanted to quote Lilo doesn�t mean I�m mad at you. But with each IM popping up with the same question, I was greatly bothered. I thought about what must be going through their minds way too much. "They're too concerned with what people think of them"; "They should stop thinking everything is about them." By the time my dad got home at 10:40, I was angry. You don�t want to be angry when my dad is angry. That�s a case you just should not fight fire with fire.

He walked in and immediately started asking questions.

"How are you feeling?"

"Eh, ok."

"Doesn�t sound it. Does your mouth hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I got 4 fillings today."

"What does that mean?"

"They filled 4 of my cavities. It hurt a lot."

"Did you have band camp today?"

"Yeah."

"And how was that?"

"Boring."

"How long was it."

"8:30 to 5:30."

"What?"

"8:30 to 5:30." I raised my voice so he could hear me. Natural thing to do.

"Oh, well I�m sorry I�m boring you with all these questions."

"No, I�m just tired..."

"Well I just worked for 15 hours, I�m tired too � "

"Oh come on."

"So I�m very sorry I bothered you with my questions, I won�t keep annoying you, how selfish of me!"

I shut down the computer and left.

"Oh that�s just great," he said.

"Good night."

"It was good having a conversation with you."

"Good night."

"It�s so great to talk to you."

"Love you too."

He didn�t respond.

I ran upstairs to the bathroom, locked myself in, sat on the toilet cover and cried. I didn�t sob. With my hands folded in my lap, I stared at the wall and let the tears pour down for 10 minutes. I looked in the mirror to see my swollen eyes and little beads of sweat dripping off my nose. I leaned one arm against the sink and made an incision in it with a safety pin. No blood came, which made me angrier. It just left a light pink scrape. I put it down and filled the sink with tears. My jaw began to throb, so I tiptoed back downstairs for my medicine. The pain won�t go away. It�s been here for a half hour. I don�t remember it being so bad. I�m not crying though. I don�t think I have the energy to.

I went to my computer and took two digital pictures of me to capture the horrific moment. You can�t tell I�m crying in either. In one, my face is completely white. In the other, I just look angry. I was a little scared to see that in the background of the second one, there are what appear to be flames behind my head. I checked the poster that they appear on � there are none to the naked eye. What have I foreseen?

For once, I�m not going to let the guilt take me over. It�s time I tell myself the truth. Is it fair for me to see a new doctor every week for a new set of problems? Is it fair that I have to go through a never-ending pain everyday, and try to cloak it with a smile? Can�t I frown too? Is it fair that I have to bottle my anger, my pain, my angst, my fears, my guilt, my hatred, my insanity down inside of me? Is it fair that I have done that every second of a two-month period where I have undergone far more than most people ever have? Is it fair I�m forced to now sleep in a much too hot room because I�m too scared for my life to go downstairs near him? Near him, who blames me for everything that�s gone wrong? And is it fair that I should be punished for finally letting a little of that steam out? Is it?

My psychologist said I�m not bipolar. Then again, majority of the cases are misdiagnosed. I think I�m a little more then dysthymic, or mildly depressed, don�t you?

- Molly{11:13 pm}

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