“You see this body? Of course you do. You like it, I mostly get along with it. You see this face? That smile? Total lie. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder two years ago. On two occasions my brain wanted my body to die. The handful of pills didn’t do the job in January of last year, and if anything is going to make you want to die for real it is getting activated charcoal forced down your throat and your stomach getting pumped… never again. October of last year the demons came back, I wasn’t taking the right dose of albuterol and I was planning to find a tall building or a bridge. It took me awhile to find the courage to tell my mother what I was thinking but I did, and I had a 72 hour hold. My levels are theraputic now and while I still find it tough some days to get out of bed and be around other people, I don’t feel as though I should remove myself from the world. I’m not sure what my direction is, as my counselor asks nearly every time I go to my appointments, but I think I should be around to see it. My family has been very supportive of me, and half of my friends are as well. The other half don’t know what to do with me, or ran away which I guess means they weren’t really my friends. Anyhow, so to get back on topic… My brain is not happy in my skin, but it’s not because of the skin I’m in.”

(via proudinmyskin-deactivated201106)