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crying crying crying crying crying crying crying crying

I happen to know plenty about bipolar disorder, thank you very much.

But, again, you wouldn't know that.

You wouldn't know that I've tried to kill myself twice, and that my mother is a nutcase who tries to off herself even more than I do. You wouldn't know that my father has anger issues, and that he hates my mother to dangerous levels. You wouldn't know that I'm dislexic, and because of it school can be a b***h. Or that I'm starving myself because if I don't all the stress I go through makes me vomit.

Because I don't talk about it.

But there you have it. For you, I confess my wretched life. Everyone has s**t in their lives. If you want to deal with yours by bitching and living in denial, then go ahead. It's not like anything I say you listen to anyway. Just know that you're not alone. You just ned better ways to deal with it. For all our sakes. and I'm serious. If things are really so bad, get help. You say no one can help you, but you're wrong. So very wrong. And another thing: not killing yourself makes you the best kind of person. The strongest kind. You see, even though through fear, that taking a long-term solution to a short-term problem is a bad idea. For that, you have my deepest respect. Please, don't think yourself a coward for not killing yourself.

You couldn't be a stronger person.

No, I don't want you to tell me about your problems because I felt the need to tell you mine. This isn't a contest. The only reason I posted this is because I don't like people saying things I didn't do. So don't even start. I never said I hated you, and I'll stick by that. Even if you refuse to believe it.

I don't hate you.