This coming year, I would love to find a cure for my Bi-Polar.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

BWAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

HA HA HA HA!

Hee hee hee hee heeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

*snort*

Okay, I’m back.  That is NOT what I meant in the title.  There is no cure and, further, I do not want it.  I LOVE what my Bi-Polar does for me, how it teaches me a stretches me and makes me better.

What I want to do next year is to learn to cope better.  This was my first year without being medicated since I was ten.  I survived, though barely, and had many a time I thought I might have to go back on my medication.  It’s a question ever in the back of my mind, but there were many times it was in the front of it, too.  I hate being out of control and being off medications does have an element of living on a constant edge.

I’ve allowed myself to cling to the misery this year.  I’ve written friends about being miserable, talked to my parents about it, and put on a brave face for the good people around me.  But that doesn’t change the fact that I have sapped my own mind by allowing the misery to stay.  I haven’t been active in dismissing the misery.  I’ve been lonely and frustrated, not by choice, but by circumstance.  Who would have thought that moving across town would make it so difficult?  However, despite circumstances and being in a new society being what they are, I could have easily been better about getting out and reaching out.  Instead of a brave face, I could have admitted I’m bad at making friends.  I could have done more to make them, however bad at it that I am.  I could have kept in contact with old friends better, too, and for my part in that, I am truly sorry.

Next year, I will be committed to being happier–I will allow myself to be happier.  I’ll do my best to make better and closer and more friends.  I’ll be more positive, even if only to myself.

____________________________

The title comes from this poem.

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