…People think I’m sad. They always do. And I don’t blame them – I used to be sad a lot. I suffer from bipolar disorder, and I’ve had a few rough times in life, such as sexual abuse as a child, and my sister’s death a few years back. I’m currently 16, and with gcses added to the stress of, well, living…I hate it.
If I’m honest, I’m only still alive because I can’t bear the thought of leaving my girlfriend behind. Of never seeing her again. She’s also the only reason I keep it together – I have to. You know that line from Frozen, ‘conceal don’t feel don’t let them know’? Yeah. That’s me.
My whole life I’ve been told to keep it all inside, to never show how I feel. But it’s so hard…
Back to my main point though. I’m not sad.
I’m angry, and it’s killing me.
My girlfriend was recently sexually abused. She’s recovering, and I’m glad to say I’ve been able to help. But she still sees the abuser at school, and I’m scared. Always. It makes me want to blow my head off. The only vague comfort I can get is by sleeping all day to avoid the fear in my waking life – the real fear.
But I’m angry, and it’s eating me alive.
I want to die, but if I do, I’m bringing him down with me.