So much madness has happened since I last posted. My dog died, I tried to off myself, I wanted to move, but my cunt of a landlord threatened me. Too much pressure and too much stress and not enough support from people I needed it mostly from.
Lost another friend. Or rather fake friend. Someone who considered me their therapist and never considered or cared about ME. Just a mess. Too much drama.
I’m on Latuda now. Which is making me gain weight. And issue I have been fighting with for years. So I’m not happy.
I’ve been cycling ever so slightly, but I keep moving. I keep trying. I keep fighting. I’m still here.
Found out I could never have children, even before the bipolar set in, one barren chic.
Had to deal with that.
But I’m still here. BiPolar is not me, I am me. I am a poet, a woman, a thinker. I am more than what is written above.
I need to remind myself of this daily.
I’m still here.