Oh well.

I’m sabotaging my own life.

I haven’t left my room for a while.

I’ve gotten into a bad habit of starving myself.

I haven’t showered for so long even I’m starting to smell it.

I force myself to stay awake at night and then spend mornings sleeping it all off.

I am now self-harming after 2 years of being clean.

I don’t interact with anyone. My friends are gone. My parents hardly see me.

I have given up on my education.

I’m going to be 20 next year and I nearly feel myself crying over it.

In fact, I have moments where I realise I’m crying and have no reason for it.

I’m giving up on my dreams.

I have been bedridden.

I might have even gained back my agoraphobia since I went cold-turkey on my meds not too long ago.

I have Bipolar II.

I’m purposely trying to stress myself to the point where I can’t take it any longer and hopefully do myself damage. Somehow the idea of being dead gives me happiness. Relief. Excitement. Freedom.

I have spent most nights daydreaming over this. It’s as if my soul wants to burst outta my body and jump and skip and disappear into orbit.

If only it was certain reincarnation would take place after death, I would’ve done it years ago.

Oh well.