Maybe I’m Bipolar? I thought to myself as I drove down the never ending road we all know so well as the “toll road”. I hadn’t been at my moms in a week and now I was heading back to “talk”. Earlier I had cursed at my mother and then managed to piss her off even more by peeling out of the drive. I had a lot of built up anger inside with no where to purge. I felt insane. Getting angry at things that never used to bother me in the slightest. I was trapped in my own little world of anger, hurt, and worst of all…depression. The funny thing is I used to have this problem and the root of it was always my dad. But since that time things have changed drastically. Now the anger is targeted towards my mother. I have a lot of resentment towards the past and what happened. How everything went down and actions that were taken. I felt abandoned and found myself slowly slipping into the shallow pool of “going with the flow”. I have always lived by “going with the flow” but also never letting anyone make me feel belittled. Never lose my voice even if I’m the only one standing for it. That’s what I had lost….my voice. The feeling to freely express what I thought even though she may not like it. I found that I didn’t really have this problem with anyone but with my mother. I had this longing to be understood and the disappointment of knowing I wasn’t. I felt like the only one who was trying. Sure she helped me out financially. But emotionally we were never the same once she started dating. It wasn’t too long after the divorce that she started to be gone more often. Leaving me alone most of my sophomore summer to fend for myself and miss her. The more I missed her, the more I worried. The more I worried, the more I resented her and anger emerged inside of me. I didn’t fully realize how much of an impact that summer would have on myself. That is, until now. There I was, starring straight forward and my blurred reflection on the tv starring right back. I wasn’t even sure I knew who that person was starring me down in the tv. I had let so much emotion build up inside of me that I now was someone I myself didn’t even recognize. Of course I was still me deep down inside but I was not surfaced in the slightest. “What seems to be the matter?” She asked as she looked me straight in the eye. It’s hard for me to look people in the eye because I truly feel like they are seeing too much. As if I was sitting in a coffee shop with a cute boy that had my interest and my blouse unknowingly came unbuttoned and a peep show was granted unexpectedly to my now blushing friend. It’s hard to explain but that’s the way it is. Looking people in the eyes just makes me feel like they are seeing a more intimate or personal side to me. As to the question, what’s wrong with me? Well I find myself asking what’s right with me? And why did it matter? It seemed pretty bold to tackle such a complex matter from the start of this very long, hard and complicated conversation. “I’m just not happy.” With a cackled voice as I found myself already getting joked up to come to that realization. But with what was I not happy? Everything. It wasn’t one specific thing. It was many. Thing after thing piled high with no where to go. Any one would crack under this kind of pressure. Especially if they let it build up inside and ignore it for so long that it now got to them so badly all they could do to explain it was to scream at the top of their lounges. That’s where I was. Only I didn’t scream. I cried. A lot. And I felt horrible. I felt real pain from it. It hurt in a way that can’t even relate to physical pain. It’s the worst kind of hurt I have ever had. And what’s even worse is the fact that I can’t give it justice in explaining. It’s only something that is relatable with. If you have been there you just know. And when you know, you wished you hadn’t found out. “I think you should see a counselor.” Counselors are a waste of time and money. At least the one’s I have seen. They sit there; across from you, with their Wal-Mart, black framed reading glasses listening to you talk as they write notes about god knows what. I have often wondered if they actually write notes or if they doodle. I have almost asked a couple of them but decided not to. That’s right, I have seen a couple in my time. They have never helped me. If they had I wouldn’t be in the pickle I find myself in now. The last one I saw had this strange obsession with fish. A sand box was in the office and there was a sofa which faced a sofa chair. It was just strange. On top of that, if I can’t even truly open up to my friends how can I ever open up to a stranger. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right one?” What? Should I go post signs through out the town. “Wanted: Crazy psycho chick, in dyer need of a shrink who isn’t as crazy as she.” Yeah that will get me far. I guess after you go through more than a few and they all don’t seem to get the job done it makes it hard to get motivated when the mention of “trying again” is brought up. And I honestly don’t think I’m crazy. If anything I’m just forted. An overdramatic personality, with dysfunctions such as letting things out. Or even…letting go. We all have problems and I know that. It’s all about how we deal with them. I have always been the type of person who lets things bottle up while making it seem as if I’m just letting go. I smile a lot in public and know how to have a good time but that doesn’t mean I don’t hurt. I let the past stir in my thoughts, in the back of my mind by day and full blown in my face at night. Letting go has always been hard for me and if that makes me crazy then there you have it. But even figuring that out it doesn’t seem to be enough. Knowing that I struggle doesn’t fix the fact that I do. So I sat there and cried. I was in pain and I honestly had very little reason as to why. I felt pathetic. Useless to my family. I seemed to only be making a screwed situation even more screwed up. It seemed pointless to even talk about because as far as I was concerned there was nothing to be done. But my they thought other wise. Just letting it out. Just talking about it. Just crying was enough to help | 
