After more than a week of feeling okay.

I think I have a bipolar disorder.

I told my parents a few weeks ago, but they’re acting as if I’d said nothing.

Yesterday, I went to a friend’s birthday party and I felt like I wasn’t even there. And maybe it was because of the loneliness and vulnerability I felt because of the party or because of something else, but I’ve been eating non-stop since then. This always happens. I can’t do my work. I can’t read a book (something which I would usually enjoy immensely). I’ve been sitting in front of my computer all day. I don’t feel like doing anything that requires more energy than sitting. I feel like disappearing, painlessly and soundlessly.

I keep imagining that tomorrow I won’t go to school, and when my mum comes into my room to tell me to get ready, I’ll burst into tears and have a real-as-shit breakdown. But I know I won’t, because after seventeen years of fitting in a specific mold, I can’t get out. I’m that person: the quiet one, the boring one, the smart one, the dependable one, the mediocre one, the wallflower, the good listener, the nice one. And I’m sick of it all. I just feel like crying and I don’t know why. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being petty, that maybe I should just grow up, but god I am lonely. No matter how many people I find who I can relate to, no matter how many books I read that hold the words to my soul, no matter how much music I listen to in an attempt to fill this emptiness that I keep pushing to the back of my mind, I know that something is wrong with me.

I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired of constantly swinging between wanting to live life to the fullest and wanting to kill myself.