Behind the façade of an average teenage boy, there lies a monster. The monster is bipolar disorder. Bipolar disorder is constantly waiting for just the right moment to strike, and when it does, it strikes hard. Sometimes, bipolar disorder drives me wild. It makes me do things I never would do. During this high, I have racing thoughts and sleep much less. I am more outgoing and talkative than my normal self. Some of these things might not seem that bad, but rather good. But along with these good-feeling highs, there comes uncontrollability. I lash out on people. I throw things; I break things. I scare the shit out of the people around me. I turn into a monster behind these Armani shades. I hate it. I hate it. And along with these intense high, I also have low lows. Triggers. Triggers. Triggers. Not being able to see my friends, arguments, stress, abandonment, shame. These are triggers. Triggers. They trigger the serotonin levels in my head to shoot way down. I want to die. I want to kill myself. I feel worthless, abandoned. I suffer. I suffer. Thanks bipolar disorder, my lifelong "companion".
Thanks a lot,
Armani
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