Sitting here in my mother’s basement contemplating the time I spent living here when things were so bad. I was an overmedicated zombie just trying to make it through each day. My husband was two thousand miles away wondering if I was really ill or just making up a reason to leave him. I had come back home for the support and to be near what I thought was my very good doctor. Now that I know what a good doctor really is I wonder how I could be so naïve and let someone bully me so easily. He told me I just have a melancholy personality. What a fuckstick, That was the last straw. Doctors like that are why people with biplolar go undiagnosed for years, or a decade like me. Looking back I wish I had had the strength to advocate for myself and the bravery to find a new PDoc. A hard thing to do when you are so far down you can’t function as a person. I need to work on forgiving myself for all the years I spent being misdiagnosed or undiagnosed, all those years of self medication. Harder still, forgiving the people in my life for not seeing that something was seriously wrong, for not helping me. All those teachers when I was a messed up teenager, rapid cycling and cutting. I feel like they failed me in so many ways, my life was in their hands and they botched it. My mental health is my own responsibility but I was so lost, I needed help so badly. I’m glad I survived but I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive them all.