Saturday, September 4, 2010 (Part 3)

Ever feel like you need a sign. A sign to show you to live, or a sign I'm searching for... a sign to die. A signal to tell you "it's time". I think I found the sign I have been waiting for tonight. People don't understand what bipolar is. They never will, NEVER. There was a group of kids at the party (I ended up going) who were joking around about his girlfriend being bipolar when I brought it up to someone I was talking to. Then Chris said 95% of girls are bipolar. I was so hurt and every time I tried to explain that it's not a joke and a true struggle. They laughed. I got in George's face I held so much back, I wanted to hurt him so much physically, just so he can feel an ounce of what I felt inside. I have never been so hurt in my life. It's like joking about a crippled or cancer. No one understands. No one ever will. It will forever be a joke for someone who is being moody of PMSing. Fuck this. Fuck my life. I don't want to live anymore. And this was my sign.