#bipolar thoughts

[saddevilsworld]

i’m fighting a war within my head that i don’t want to fight anymore it’s so exhausting and no one understands

[jiraikeibabesblog]

People only care about mental health when you’re fully recovering

[dollincage]

whenever i’m depressed or hypomanic, suicide is always and will always be an option. and i hate myself for it.

[doomedfromthewombfr]

I fall apart so quietly that even I forget I’m breaking

[manicscales]

Why do I feel like I’ll never get better? When will it get better?

[lostbrokenboy]

Lostbrokenboy – The Silent Suffering

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Lostbrokenboy, who was only six years old. He had an older sister, Sophie, who was eleven. She was their father's favorite child. She was wild, careless, and often got into trouble. But every time she did, she cleverly shifted the blame onto Lostbrokenboy. He had long since gotten used to it. Punishments had become routine for him, pain a constant shadow in his life.

One day, the inevitable happened. Sophie lost the most valuable possession of the family – an old golden ring, a family heirloom passed down for generations. Panic filled the house when their father discovered the loss. His anger was like a storm, showing no mercy. Without waiting for an explanation, he immediately decided that Lostbrokenboy must be to blame.

Without resistance, Lostbrokenboy took the blame. He knew there was no point in telling the truth. His father wouldn’t have believed him anyway. And so it happened that, as punishment, he was locked in the cold, damp basement. It was winter, and the temperatures had dropped so low that his breath turned into small, white clouds in the air. His father forced him to take off all his clothes except for his boxers. Then the door slammed shut, and he was alone in the darkness.

The cold crept into his bones instantly. The walls of the basement were made of stone, damp and hard, and the floor was icy. The darkness was almost absolute, with only a tiny basement window allowing in a faint trace of light. Lostbrokenboy pulled his knees to his chest and tried to shiver to stay warm, but it hardly helped. Hunger began gnawing at him after just a few hours. But far worse than that was the fear – the fear of what was yet to come.

Three times a day, his father came down. Morning, noon, and evening, the door would open, the light from the upper floor momentarily blinding Lostbrokenboy before his father’s silhouette filled the doorway.

"Where is the ring?" the man asked every time in the same ice-cold voice.

"I don’t know. I lost it," Lostbrokenboy replied over and over. And each time, the punishment followed.

His father struck him with brutal precision. Never on the face – for nothing should be visible when he returned to school. But his arms, his back, his legs – they were the target of the merciless blows. Each hit burned like fire, leaving blue bruises and hematomas that turned black-violet within hours. Lostbrokenboy clenched his teeth, fought back the tears, refused to scream. He knew that was exactly what his father wanted – to hear his pain, to feel his despair. But Lostbrokenboy would not give him that satisfaction.

Three days passed. Three days that felt like an eternity. The cold was a constant enemy, never resting, relentlessly trying to break him. Lostbrokenboy's lips turned blue, his skin was icy, his body shivered uncontrollably. His stomach ached from hunger, his head throbbed with exhaustion, and his eyes burned from sleep deprivation. But he endured. For his sister, who today ungratefully denied everything and tried to twist the story as if it had been his fault. For himself. Because he knew nothing else.

When he was finally allowed out of the basement, he was weak. His father simply threw him a sweater and a pair of pants, and Lostbrokenboy pulled them over his battered body with trembling hands. He said nothing. He shed no tears. Because he knew: It was not over. It would never be over.

At school, everyone noticed. Even in summer, when the others ran around in shorts and T-shirts, Lostbrokenboy always wore long sweaters, long pants. His classmates asked him, "Why are you wearing that? It’s so hot."

He only smiled faintly and replied, "I’m cold. I feel more comfortable this way."

They laughed. They thought he was strange, a weirdo. But no one knew the truth. No one understood that Lostbrokenboy did not fear the cold – but rather what lay hidden beneath his clothes. His scars. His bruises. His secrets.

And so, Lostbrokenboy went on. In a house that was not a home. In a world that held no salvation for him.

[robynleefaryna]

My princey boi

[wearelostinthecosmos]

LIVING WITH BIPOLAR DISORDER FOR A YEAR - mini zine ⚡️

At the end of June 2023, I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder and it changed my life in many ways.

I’m currently working on a longer A5 zine about it - kind of documenting this year, sharing information I’ve learned about the disorder, things that help me… I’ve imagined this longer zine to try helping people who are getting diagnosed with the disorder, in a way I’m creating it for my younger self who was overwhelmed by what it meant to live with bipolar disorder.

In the meantime I really wanted to create a mini zine about this year, kind of an overview. I talk about being hospitalised, meds and finding help. I made it during the night while listening to Bre’s podcast and it was so great!

available on my shop ✂️: werelostinthecosmos.bigcartel.com

[sotiredofstayingalive]

The worst part of being terribly sick? People come into your life expecting you to change, while pretending they'll accept you the way you are.

They'll accept you until you open up and show them your reality. After that, they just grow tired and eventually leave.

I'm cursed and sometimes I think I should just be alone for the sake of not just not hurting other people, but also not hurting myself.

But I'm so alone...

Why me?

[plottwistedstory]

nichts fühlt sich real an, wenn ich’s nicht mit dir teile

[saddevilsworld]

suic1de has been heavy on my heart lately

[outcast123]

Hey everyone I need advice. So my dad and sister told me nobody gives a shit about me. My dad also told me he doesn’t give a shit about me. I know I really shouldn’t care for them but for some reason I don’t know why I have such sympathy, I have been in and out of mental hospitals and I kinda do agree nobody really cares. On the streets for three days and nobody helped. I have never done drugs or anything like that. I have a mental illness and domestic violence happened in my family. I call dcf on my parents because my dad told me he doesn’t want to keep me. I wish I didn’t care about them because none of them help me out properly. My dad sleeps the whole day and I am home the whole day. A depressing fucking life. My sister is out living her own life even after all the horrible stuff she has said about me while I am stuck here. It’s very unfair to me. I deserve to be living the dream life that I desire forever where I do everything I want to do that always makes me happy. I really don’t care for them.

[dollincage]

i hate being the mentally ill girl in my family.

i hate how it means that my family is keeping the truth away from me because they’re scared i’ll try to kill myself again.

i hate how it means that they feel the need to make false promises in order to make me feel better.

i hate how it means that they would never understand me, even though they tried.

[doomedfromthewombfr]

Maybe I’m better off without witnesses to the mess I call living

[manicscales]

I love how I didn’t ask you for anything, didn’t beg, didn’t argue but I would have if you asked and yet, you could only provide me with nothing in the end.

[sweetlytwilight]