Dear Bipolar II,
STOP. Enough. I’m exhausted. Let me get on with life.
In the last fourteen months, I’ve spent too many days, weeks, months depressed beyond recognition. I’ve spent weeks hypomanic, dangerously hypomanic. There have been weeks where I was more drug than person. Days where I cut violently: with X-Acto razors, with shaving razors, with broken plastic. There have been too many sleepless or sleep deprived nights. I’ve taken too many medications. I’ve hurt myself and others. I’ve caused worry. I’ve wasted money.
And I’ve changed. You took a not-quite-innocent but not yet victim to severe, reckless, relentless self-damage of various types young woman and hurt her, badly. As my therapist would say, it’s not a tragedy; it’s a bummer. And it is a bummer. I’ve changed because of you.
Please. Enough. Leave me alone. Let me live. Let me breathe. Let me be without paralyzing fear of your coming, the behavior’s you’ll encourage, the damage you’ll do, the mess you’ll leave.
Please. I beg you. Go.
And don’t return.