My name is Bri, and I'm 19 years old. Over a course of 14 months (Christmas Eve '06 to Valentine's Day '08), I lost my grandfather, my grandmother, and my mother. I have depression, bipolar disorder, and alcohol problems. I recently lost my boyfriend and my job, and I don't have many friends or anywhere to turn. I don't know how to handle things anymore.

Tuesday, May 21th: For what seemed to be no reason, I cut myself for the first time in 8 months in the morning, then wanted to commit suicide in the evening.

Wednesday, May 22th: I cut myself again in the morning. I thought my roommate, J., had already left for work, but she noticed me coming out of the bathroom with my arm covered in blood. She comforted me for a bit, then asked my other roommate, M., if she would come over while she was at work. M., who was at her boyfriend's place, responds with, “No. I don’t want to babysit. I need my boyfriend time.” That evening I flipped out and started crying hysterically in my boyfriend’s car.

Friday, May 24th - Sunday, May, 26th: While my boyfriend was in D.C., visiting his twin brother, he said he would be “thinking about the relationship.”

Thursday, May 30th: I was getting high with some friends, and even though I didn't want him to see me like that, my boyfriend said he wanted to talk anyway. I noticed he brought my shampoo with him. I took one look at it and started tearing up, then asked, “…are you breaking up with me?” He said, “…well…” and I lost it. I told him I was going to get help. I told him I wasn’t going to hurt myself anymore. He agreed to give me another chance.

Friday, May 31st: My boyfriend said he’d come over to pick me up. Before he arrived, I thought I could use a drink to calm myself down since I was nervous about the previous day and I had a tough day at work. Not enough to even make me buzzed - just something to take away the anxiety...well, I went overboard and drank a fifth. I don’t know why I didn’t stop. I felt like I couldn’t stop. An hour later, at 7:00pm my boyfriend found me drunk out of my mind, and says, “I can’t deal with this.” I scream at him to get the **** out (…which I honestly don’t remember - he and M. had to tell me what I did two weeks later). Two hours later, at 9:00pm, M. pulled me out of the tub so I could sleep on the futon. Around 4:00am the next morning, the realization of what I had done finally hit me, and I started apologizing profusely.

Saturday, June 1st: I couldn’t get a hold of him. I was scared and alone and didn’t know what to do. I felt like my world was spinning out of control. The hangover from hell didn’t help either. I decided that I was going to take the day off of work, and take my boyfriend out to lunch to make up for it. I called work and said I was sick (which wasn’t too far from the truth), and they said I had to have a note from a doctor. I didn’t know what to do, since my insurance had been cancelled the month before, but they said I wasn’t even allowed to show up for work until I had a note. I had the out-of-control feeling again - I ruined my relationship AND my job, the two things I enjoyed the most. I wanted to end it right then and there. I called the suicide hotline, but it was taking too long to get through. Then, I called the Resolve Network, and, after consulting them and my stepdad, we all agreed that I should go to the E.R.. I asked my boyfriend to take me (I can’t drive), but still no response. I ended up getting a ride from M. and her boyfriend.

I was transferred from the E.R. to the psych ward.

That night, my boyfriend called me on the hospital phone to say he needed space, then ended things then and there.

Monday, June 3rd: The doctors told me that my freakout wasn’t my fault. Not only was I dealing with the improperly treated bipolar disorder, but they believe I have PTSD because my meltdown was so close to Mother’s Day (because I watched my Mom die). I got combo that turned my head into a suicidal, binge-drinkin’, Dorito Loco Taco.

They fixed my meds, and I started doing better. Except for the whole ‘wow, I really just got dumped in the psych ward by the guy I'm head over heels in love with. Someone please kill me,’ thing I had going on.

Wednesday, June 5th: I tried explaining this to my boyfriend. He said that was good and all, but he still needed space. I asked him if he would see me when I got out, and he said yes. I asked him if we could date again. He said possibly, but no promises.

Friday, June 14th: I got out.

Sunday, June 16th: I asked my boyfriend if he would see me. He said he still needed a few weeks, and when we DID hang, it would only be as friends. The chance to date again was gone. By this time, I was frustrated out of my skull. I’d told him I was sorry over and over and over again (for something I had no control of, nonetheless), and I was tired of it. I got the help I needed, I was taking meds that don’t make me want to drink or cut or die, and I’m even going to a therapist three days a week (starting tomorrow), I'd already hated myself for what happened, and I wished he would understand. We were together for almost 6 months, and I didn’t want it to be over just because of ****** meds and booze, and I sure as hell didn’t want his last memory of me to be me passed out in the bathtub and Hulking out at him. I’ve even cut alcohol out of my life.

Tuesday, June 18th: I went to my manager to give her the notes from the doctor explaining why I was gone for two weeks. She said she had already hired someone to fill my place because they couldn't wait for me, and that I was no longer employed there. Which is crap - I got like 10 hours or less a week. They could have EAAAASILY split it up among the other employees, especially with all this labor-cutting B.S. the company is doing.

So on top of all that bad meds, binge-drinking, losing my boyfriend crap, now I’m unemployed. At least job hunting is a good distraction.

Sunday, July 21st: The lease is gonna be up soon and I need to decide if I’m gonna stay here with my roommates, or move back in with Dad (actually, my stepdad - my biological father knocked up my mom then ran off). I'm not sure which I should do. I spent about two weeks at my Dad's, and on a whim, decided I would move back with him. I told my boyfriend (well, ex-boyfriend...) and he agreed to see me before I go, but now I'm second guessing my decision, because what if I can fix things? Or what if can't fix things? Am I going to just give up? I feel like I have nowhere I can really call home. I can't make choices for myself and I want someone to just spoonfeed me the answers.

Pros of staying here:
- Independence
- I can keep my medical card and go to therapy/afford my meds.
- Maybe I can fix things with my boyfriend...???

Cons of staying here:
- I’m lonely
- It’s expensive and I can’t hold a job.
- Not being able to drive limits job opportunites
- There’s a lot of people. I don't handle people well.
- I’m scared of going downtown
- Everything reminds me of my boyfriend and I break down into a sobbing ball of patheticness.

Pros of moving back for a few months:
- I can learn to drive.
- Less responsibilities.
- It’ll be cheaper.

Cons of moving back for a few months:
- I’ll still be lonely
- Even though Dad’s usually a nice guy, we tend to argue a lot because we're both stubborn, and I don't think I can deal with that.
- He’s the only person I really have there.
- ...my only social life will be my Dad. That's not really a social life. Then again, I didn't really have much of one here, aside from my boyfriend...
- I will have to live in a house where my mom died.
- Somehow everything still reminds me of my boyfriend and I break down into a sobbing ball of patheticness...???

Monday, July 22nd: My roommate (J.) goes to college and holds two jobs.
I can't hold one job, let alone two. School? ****, I can't even think about school right now. I can't even do basic things like eat or sleep. I haven't eaten anything (save for a few marshmallows) in three days, and even with sleep aides, I'm only getting two or three hours of rest. I can't enjoy anything I used to, or even do the work I used to do. I've even been trying to pack up a few things, but I just...can't. I can't take on responsibilities, I can't pay the bills, and I can't fix my relationship. He'll never want to come back if he knows I'm like this. But I can't do anything except think negative thoughts. There's something worse than emptiness inside of me - it's a heaviness. A burden that I carry with me wherever I go. I'm stuck inside my own head and I can't get out. I feel so useless because I can't DO anything. Like I have no purpose. Like I'll never amount to anything. Like I'm just a waste of space.