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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.