Bipolar II Downs

I broke yesterday. After all the hard work I'd done in the backyard, I broke. I saw a bucket full of sidewalk chalk and I just filled in the walkway to my front door with different colors. Sounds nice, right?

To the side I wrote words on the bricks. Hate. Death. Suicide. $$. Love. Loss. Lost. No Worth. Bills. Meds. The list went on. I recorded it, as a photo just wouldn't do it justice.

I scraped my knuckles as the chalk pieces got smaller. I was frightened by the fact that I didn't care. I was frightened by the fact that it was good to feel some pain other than the pain in my mind. I felt angry. I felt unwanted. I felt like a failure. I questioned why I was here. I questioned why I bother to keep going.

Those that I shared this wish found it beautiful. A wonderful way to express myself. It was pure manic. Death felt so at hand that all I could do was keep coloring each section. Selecting a different color and writing words as they came to mind. I have lost faith in my self worth. I have lost faith in me.

I'm not a cutter. But I'm starting to understand those that are. Maybe I belong back in the hospital, I just can't afford it.