Uggg. So it happened. He retired and I lost it. I decided to write him a heart-felt letter telling him what gifts he's given me. He was with me through my breakdown and recovery. He also helped me with my fear of male power-figures. Letting go of him feels like a death and abandonment. He's just gone. And I should "graduate" now. I should be cured now. But this is a former struggle. I have learned to be accepting and gentle with myself. Sometimes over-indulgent though. As if I deserve more cake because I'm going through a rough time instead of cooking a healthy meal as comfort.

But this is me. I live with bipolar. Lately, I've been so depressed that when it lifts I sometimes think I'm going to rebound too far into mania. I caught myself shopping this morning. I noticed right away the symptoms coming on and I immediately got on to this site to check myself.

I let myself have the whole day yesterday to grieve this passing of a part of myself. I also grieve this week because we lost a senior student to suicide. The tragedy has been one of the most horrible experiences of my life. It has been almost 2 weeks, but the shock and emotional whirl-wind has been almost too much. I'm supposed to be the adult at school and help the kids navigate their grief by modeling it. But all I can see is his face. It has changed how I see my mental illness. I think I must live my life better to make up for a life lost. I also saw the sheer destruction this one event has had on a very small community. Far-reaching ripples of despair and devastation. How could I ever do such a thing to my friends and family?

This is the second such funeral I have attended, and all I think is that I shall never think to do this ever again. I must not ever think that suicide is an option. It is NOT an option. But I kill myself from apathy every day and I SHALL NOT allow a slow suicide to happen either.

All I can say is that we must grieve the parts of our lives we've lost and survive and thrive in memory of what has been lost. I must try at the very least.