Um.

I came home from college in the middle of a semester and I don't know what I'm doing and blogging about it seemed like a good coping mechanism.

As in, came home. Permanently. Actually, I have to go pick up my stuff tomorrow, which is probably going to be some kind of tear fest.

I will live at home for the rest of this semester.

That has not settled in yet.

But here's a brief version of the story: I am bipolar manic-depressive. Manic-depressive is like this:

MANIC: EVERYONE LOVES ME LET'S LIGHT EVERYTHING ON FIRE.
Depressive: What have I done? Everyone hates me.

That's the problem with lighting everything on fire. It burns. And turns into ashes. At least, it does in your brain. And sometimes in the real world, too.

Depressive follows manic. I made two mistakes here. 1. I thought my depression wouldn't be that bad (wrong) and 2. I didn't stick to a strict regimen of therapy (exercise, activity, positive self-talk, pills, counseling). Kind of like a diabetic chucking the insulin pump out the window. (I actually was taking my pills, but medication takes a while to "take" and it's also only about 1/3 of the "treatment"). Regardless. Unhealthy human being. And too proud to admit she couldn't take care of herself.

I don't want to take care of myself. I don't want there to be anything "wrong" with me. And I want to be MANIC all of the time.

So.

Welcome home.