Sketches of a Bipolar Girl: Lies

 

The lies have started again.  The ones in my head that tell me how ugly and useless I am.  The ones that tell me that I am a complete failure and will never amount to anything.  The ones that say everyone is against me and people don't like me.

I've started to become paranoid.  I feel like people are watching me and laughing at me.  They are just waiting for me to fail.  The only person that likes me is Zelda, and she's not human.  I think April and Erica are talking about me.  They go into their rooms and close the door.  I am not invited.  No one talks to me.  They are making plans without me.  They go places without me.  The eat without me, and only prepare enough for themselves.

The job is shit.  I suck at it.  I don't know why I bother.  Would you buy insurance from a useless blob like me?  What's happening to me?  I called the doctor, and got an appointment for tomorrow.  I'm not suicidal, but I do want to go to a place where no one knows me.  Right now, I haven't any money, so here I sit in this stupid room in this dumb apartment.  I pretend to give a damn, but I don't.  

In the meeting this morning, they were talking about being the best person you can be.  Well, I've tried being upbeat and friendly and where did it get me?  I have spent the past five months texting a man who obviously had no intention of meeting me.  He's probably married.  He won't call or meet anywhere.  Why do I attract such losers?  Do I leave a scent of desperation?

I have an appointment in 45 minutes.  I need the sale badly.  But he won't buy.  He's a sixty-four year old real estate agent.  I'm sure he's got insurance up the wazoo.  I should have just stayed in bed.  Life is for the living you know, and I'm not living.  I'm existing.  I'm taking up the space of someone who could do some good in the world.  

Lies, it's all lies.  My head is full of self hate and all those old voices.  I have not prayed in a long time.  Would it help?  I don't know.  I know I'll end up crying.  I don't want to cry.  I'm a little to angry at this very second.  I hate this disease.  It robs you of your sense of self.  I suppose it's good to feel angry, since I haven't felt much in the past couple of weeks.  Feelings are overrated.  What good do the serve?

I know my mind is lying to me.  But with every rebuttal, it screams that much louder.  I think I'll go smoke.  I've said what I wanted to say.  Will it make a difference?  Probably not, but at least I got to vent a little.  Fuck them, fuck all of them. 

B