The only thing that goes through my mind when I'm chasing the rabbit into my own world of make-believe, is not again, I can't take it one more time. No, I'm not a melodramatic person right now, I only say those torturous words that slowly breaks me down - so no there's no taking pleasure in this. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either. I'm torn, into halves of me. I don't want to die, I've got no longing for death, nor do I fear it. But I don't have the energy to go and wait 'til all hells breaks loose.
I'm standing on two sides, screaming.
This is a part of being bipolar, for me...
After writing this, I feel fine again.