This blog might not have any meaning, it’s just something I felt I needed to write.

I can remember it like it was yesterday.
The day was August 1st 2016. I had a rather vexing day at work, but not the worst I've experienced since starting work in 2010.

As my salary is not enough to cover both my medical aid and independent living conditions, I still stay at home despite being 25. My mother was out the night and after cooking supper I decided to get an early night to sleep off the frustrations of the day.

I sat on my bed and started taking out my nightly medication. When I reached the Dopaquel 100mg, I accidentally emptied the whole bottle into my hand...and it struck me... I could drink this and all my worries would disappear forever.

I sat for over an hour weighing my options. Should I? Shouldn't I? Back and forth it went.

The indecision eventually began to irritate me and I put all the tablets, aside from the one I usually drink, back into the bottle.

I tossed and turned the whole night. It was the first time in 8 years that I even contemplated suicide. And to be brutally honest I was petrified.

Three difficult days later I was admitted to the local psychiatric hospital which I had frequented (7 times) when I was freshly diagnosed with Bipolar type 2 10 years ago.

In hindsight, it was long overdue as I had been regressing back into my old self at a rapid pace. I had begun hating life and all that comes along with it.

I went in determined to force my beast back into submission. I made friends inside and we supported each other through the dips and the recovery of whatever tasks the psychologists assigned us.

For a total of 16 days I worked relentlessly to repair as much of myself as I could. Just as the seclusion of the hospital provides you the peace you need to recover, it also gives you a sense of security that rapidly fades away once discharged.

My new positive attitude was quickly replaced with anxiety and frustration as I struggled to adapt to my former pace. Two months have passed and I still struggle but it has become easier.

However, I find myself thinking of suicide on a daily basis... Perhaps the visit was for nought...

So its valentines day countdown time and my mood is rapidly crumbling. I hate this time of year, mainly because of the fact that I have never had a good valentines day. Bipolar is a handicap in my opinion, the reason for this is we experience things differently and finding someone to spend valentines day is like walking on thin ice. You might get it right but there is a chance that you won't be able to make it. I don't know whether to try this year or just let it fade like I did in the past. That thought alone is enough to depress the hell out of me and severly affect my performance at work. So I have come to think of it like this, valentines day can get me fired... A stupid theory but possibly plausable. And besides, who wants a fat bipolar guy as their valentine? Bah! this is really a messed up situation for me.

A few years back when my bipolar was just starting to invade my life my brother and I went to go and visit my mom's eldest sister. Why I went I can't even remember because I don't like her at all... But about mid-way through the visit I apparently did something very disrespectful, I spoke to an adult as an equal by not using the usual afrikaans honorifics. So just because I didn't call the guy "oom" the english equivalent being "sir" I overstepped a boundary that existed in her mind. Later that night before supper she took me to the other room so that my brother who was around 12 at the time wouldn't hear what she was going to say. When she was out of earshot she told me that I am an arrogant and disrespectful brat who should learn his place, she also referred to me being as useless as my father who despises her and she him. At that point the newly discovered “monster” woke up and uncoiled from my mind and lifted its paw from my mouth to allow blockage of frustration and anger to gush out. Now those who have the same kind of monster inside them will know the kind of explosion that followed. Most of what I said has been lost in foggy memories but the parts I do remember I don’t regret saying at all. So after my explosion her only reaction was not to try and calm me down, hell no! Her first reaction was to give me 3 near-bleeding welts on my leg with a sambok. Now I must clarify that she was made aware of my condition when I was diagnosed so the “I didn’t know” defense didn’t work. So the way I see it is that she thought beating the $#%^ out of me would serve as a cure for the explosion she caused. So in short she beat me and I have hated her since. It has been 7 years since the incident and my hatred for her has grown in leaps and bounds, she is one of those people who expect something in return for anything she does for anyone. So last night I receive a call just as my night medication has kicked in, it was the hated cow calling to say happy birthday. That was thoughtful, but what she said afterwards would have driven me to violence if I wasn’t severely sedated. She asked me to forgive her for the beating she gave me but she only did it because she believed that I DESEREVED the lashes for talking back after being reprimanded. And seeing as I was the one who instigated the whole thing it should be me doing the apologizing. Now aside from the aforementioned incident there is a laundry list of other things she has done, not only to me but to my parents and brother. The animosity has gotten to such a degree that I refuse contact with her, I have forbidden my mom to give her my cell number and I have blocked her on facebook. But I know she has told my mom that she apologized and that I unwillingly accepted the half ass excuse at an attempt of sincerity. And I will openly admitted that the forgiveness was given because I know she will figuratively hang herself with the length of rope I gave her. And to be honest I look forward to that day because my knowledge about her indiscretions has broadened and I want to tear her a new one, hopefully then she will forget that I exist…