My black dog is barking. I’ve ignored the bitch for a couple of days but she just won’t shut the fuck up.
This is a regular thing, thanks to bipolar disorder. I’ve been OK for a while but as my physical health has deteriorated, my mood has started on a downer. I have so many letters to write but I’m not able to hold a pen for long enough. This breaks my fucking heart. I’ve always slated typed letters, but I’m scared that if I don’t then I’ll lose my pals altogether. That’s if I haven’t lost them already, 😦
So here I am. Teetering on the brink. Feeling the lowest and crappiest that I have for a long time. I’m holding on to the edge of the deep pit of my sanity and my fingers were slipping.
What really hurts is when people say ignorant shit like, “Go take a walk!” Gee asshole, my legs don’t work, is my wheelchair invisible all of a sudden? Ooooooh, wait – you turned into Harry fucking Potter and cast a spell on my legs? Bullshit. Let’s not even go there shall we? Yes, I acknowledge that fresh air and the outdoors are good for helping to lift the symptoms. But there is another issue for me – my crippling agoraphobia. Every single time that I have to open the door, my pulse rate pounds and my breathing is jagged and rapid. I burst into tears and hide myself away from the world.