It was suggested I write on here. Still not sure what the point is, what do people get from doing this? Seems like a pathetic whine from me of everything that has been said before and that has already been penned over the years in medical notes. But here I am putting words together. Entirely familiar words I am tired of.

One thing I can say categorically is that Bipolar has ruined my life over and over again. I do not know how to live with this affliction. I can not make peace with it, I can find no common ground with it. The best I can do is accept it looming there. The Medications have been exhausted, at best they slightly soften it, but mostly it is pointless. My psychiatrist has turned round after a decade and said I am treatment resistance and that we should focus on quality of life concerns. Seems I am fated to end up like my mother.

The holy grail of lasting stability eludes me, the medications I have been on have at times taken the edge off a while and I have built a life for myself in those times. Pursued my goals and tried to make up for all that lost time in a depressive states. But the precursor to ruin is always on the horizon.

I am not sure if I am in hell sometimes, as this seems to occur at the worst possible time. When I am at the height of a loving relationship, or striving for my degree. When I am surrounded by a circle of close friends. Or have finally found some direction in my life.

Then the depression returns, with it my bitterness and frustration resurface. All I have worked hard at is left in tatters. As it all just slides away, I get behind. I become unpleasant to be around I start to feel I am toxic to others and ruminate on this next assortment of failures. I sabotage those around me who care driving them away. I am aware I am doing it and inwardly am screaming at myself to stop, what the hell are you doing? But its like having a war with myself I both try to cling onto what I have and destroy it at the same time. I ask for help, but also reject that help as I wrestle with my inner dialogue. Being bored out my skull in a psych unit has certainly lost its appeal at this stage.

Mania is no better, I dread to think the amount of money I have cost my father after one crisis or another. I owe him a lot.

At some point it feels like the Bipolar has now won. I live in supported housing now, I don’t work, my father lives in chronic fear of the next crisis. I just received a care grant and will be interviewing care assistants throughout January. In a way it feels surreal to be at this point. I also feel despondent about it.

I still don’t know what I am doing or why I am even writing this? In the end what good is any of it? Nothing is resolved, just seems like it comes down to raw survival. As well as constantly trying to mitigate the damage and soften the pain.