A wake up call - to the future me.

Sirens, EMT's, and a stomach pump. They earnestly tried, but couldn't revive her.
The cause of death: a few dirty dishes.

A few dirty dishes that fueled the need to belittle and negate the person trying their hardest to remain sane in a time of her greatest invisible despair.

Maybe you didn't know that the thought of suicide was so prominent before you spoke. But it doesn't matter to you. Because it seems like all that matters is that she strokes your ego, reads your mind, does what you want when you want it done, and plays this game of "cat and mouse" with you endlessly. You want someone to pour your frustration out on. You want someone to blame for all the fuck-ups you see around you. You want someone to bear the guilt of everything that's left undone. Why she?

Could you not blame the other people equally providing dirty dishes in the household? Could you not blame any other person for not doing their part? Could you not accept your own portion of the blame?

Could you not fathom that anyone else works just as hard as you, or harder? But to top it all off, you don't want anyone to know your own internal pain and suffering, and so you point the finger to divert attention away. Instead of dealing with your own issues, you want everyone to believe it's another person that's causing you pain. I see through you.

You are as transparent as the rain; acidic to the taste and drenching the days that should have been filled with vigor.

You are as cowardice as the mime who dares to make you imagine, but fails to make you believe.

You are the ailing of the ill, that comes with the promise of a healthier day, but taints your short-sighted mind with despair.

But you were never meant to be.

You were meant to be the helper of the less able, the leader of the lost, the caretaker of the weak. You were meant to be the lifter of the fallen, the comfort of the weary. And while it sounds like an exceptionally tall order to fill, all of these were self-acclaimed titles that you boast about in public places, where seldom there is one to refute it.

While you think yourself to be Divine, you are certainly not. Your own self-image haunts you, your expectations of perfection that you project to everyone around you are a mere manifestation of what you have failed to do yourself.

You forgive yourself for failing by expecting perfection from others.

And what right do you have?

Is it because you feel like you are more worthy? Is it because you feel like you are the giver of opportunities? Is it because of this insatiable desire you have contrived to bolster the lives of others? Or is it because you have convinced yourself that you are unappreciated despite my numerous attempts to show you otherwise?

When it comes down to it, when it all boils down, it's all about the benjamins.

If I had the means to provide for myself, had my own place to live, didn't need your emotional support and encouragement - then I could afford my own personal rights to be myself and make my own choices, right? If I didn't depend on you to homologate my decisions and morals, only then I could live a life of peace and self-satisfaction, right? And because I don't have money, I'm a slave to the people who provide me with the things I need, right?

I thought I lived in America, the land of the free, the home of the brave...

The last time I checked, slavery was abolished.

And even though you seek to employ me against my will for having provided me with things I need - all in the name of being a good person and caretaker, having said you would never hold it against me or ask for repayment but doing so anyway - I STILL love you and appreciate you.

You can try to force me to do things your way, to see things your way, to accept public humiliation while you embarrass me in front of an audience because I haven't done exactly what you wanted. But you cannot make me ungrateful. I refuse to become another victim. I refuse to perpetuate the mind games and manipulation of those around me. I refuse to jeopardize my values and morals because it would give you a reason to complain.

Today, find someone else to be angry with, blame, and belittle. Because THIS scapegoat is escaping the sacrifice altar. You may have marked me a fool, but you haven't stolen my dignity.

Sadly, my desire to keep trying to love you the way you want to be loved will one day guarantee my own demise. It's time for me to wake up and finally accept that I can never love you the way you want to be loved. I can only pray that my attempts will eventually be good enough.

I've been here before and I'll be here again... somehow everyday is a new hunt for the satisfaction of knowing that I am good enough, whether you believe it or not.

The irony of the disorder

The irony in being bipolar is that when you're up, you curse the fact that you'll soon be down; when you're down, you're grateful for the fact that you'll soon be up again.