...to the bottom.

I was so hopeful in my last post! And after that, I had 6 full months of stability. I was celebrating my glorious victory on anything that would pin me down.

Yet three weeks ago, I was in the ER.

I never thought I would ever make a suicide attempt. I was so mad at my mother and my friends for killing themselves. I was proud and boisterous, I would never do it. And yet...

It's funny to come back here and read what I was writing months ago. My situation is completely different now, geographically, romantically, in terms of work and friends and family... the issues I'm struggling with are completely different, and the topics I bring up in those older post feel like they've been synthesized and dealt with a long time ago. But even though I have a new pile--even more gigantic than the one I was dealing with at that time, if you can believe it-- of issues, pains and knots, even though my crises have different flavors, the WAY in which I bear them and deal with them seems to be exactly the same.

I go back and forth between great glorious optimism and total despair. I blame it on myself, I'm still just as hard on myself. I am still convinced that 'I will never love anybody again as much as..' except it's a whole new person this time! and yet I still believe it is unalterably true, (it is bound to be, one day, right?) that I won't ever love as much again, that he was perfect--  I am still worried that my bipolar will prevent me from ever having a normal life or sustaining healthy relationships for more than a few months, I still use words like never and always.

What's the trick, Sysyphus?