Tuesday, December 28, 2010

I Hate Being Alone

While I might want to be left alone a lot of the time, I really hate being all alone in the house.  Not very grown-up of me, but then I hardly act my age anyway (30).  I live with my parents and my sister and my parents have been out of town visiting my other sister’s future in-laws.  Last time they both went out of town I ended up cutting up my torso with a glass scraper (torso cuts don’t show when you have the dress standards of an LDS woman).  Nothing drastic happened this time, but I was really depressed, barely slept, and hardly got any work done.  It just really drags on me when I don’t have familiar company, and as great as cats are, they aren’t a substitute for a good mom.

It frustrates me to feel so dependent on others.  I want to go to graduate school (again) and get my doctorate (I think), but I don’t know how I’m going to manage my health and my routine without assistance from my family.  As of right now, they are the only ones who understand how to help me—especially my mom—and support me during bad times like the entirety of winter.  The idea of moving away and living alone again is really daunting.  I don’t really think roommates are feasible because of my mental health; I’ve alienated people in the past because of my mood swings.

So I’m in limbo.  Trapped between being a fulfilled adult with a real career (*crossing fingers*) and being a perpetual adolescent living off of my parents, at least in emotional terms.  I’m not sure I’m capable of being on my own; I’m not sure I won’t cut more often and more intensely; I’m not sure I won’t try suicide again; and I’m not sure I can stay out of an institution.  I’m also painfully aware of the fact that bipolar disorder becomes more volatile as you age, making my chances of finding other companionship feel far away on depressive days like these.

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