My best friend just came to terms with the fact that he was dianosed with bipolar disorder; he felt I was the only person he could talk to at this time because there was no one around him who could actually relate to having this illness. Some of his family says he would be better after a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of it. It is more than that; I know this all too well because when I had lost my son, something inside wanted to die. I had seen the film Girl, Interrupted, and this is a film I could relate to as both a writer and an artist who was in a hospital for mental illness two years ago. I am sure a few of us can relate to this film in one way or another. One of the drawings I had done when I was in the hospital became one of my favorite drawings. The essay titled Two Years is about the time when I was in the hospital for my illness, the day I had snapped and had a nervous breakdown. There are times when I know when I am sick and this is when I had known I had an illness; but the symtoms were nothing of a physical sickness — I had no idea what was happening to me, but I had known that I could not control any of the emotions which were in my mind. I had tried to use religion to even do that and the medications they put me on the first time had only caused me to become sicker in the mind.
   When my friend knew he was sick was that he was trying to self medicate himself with various drugs and other things. He was saying the reason he was so depressed was that he came out of a long term relationship — mine was triggered by when I had first seen a dead body at the age of 21 and when my closest aunt tried to off herself by pressing down on her wrists with a razor blade. I had actually lived through a murder attempt — the reason I have really long hair is that I am trying to hide a very visible scar. It would be my artwork that kept me from going loonier than I am now — and yes I am considering myself to be a bit loony. I knew in my mind that I was loony but as intelegent as I would carry myself it is hard to show unless one looks at my other journals on diaryland and diary-x. Richie was the only friend of mine who knew I was sick as I am with the mental disorder — and this is the reason I am on disability now. I am writing to educate people about the illness of bipolar disorder and greatful that there is a forum about this in here. Sometimes I had thought about suicide but I would never carry it out — it is perhaps that deeply rooted faith I was given back in the summer of 1994 would sink in there and one of the people I converted to Christianity before I walked away from it became one of my avocates about the illness — she was the one who told me to get off the retilin because of the harmful side effects in adults. When I was stabbed I was thinking, “FUCK YOU GOD, how can you allow one of your followers to order for my attempted murder. FUCK YOU; SICK GODDAMNED FUCK!!!!”