I want to break free. I’m done with all of the lies and false expectations. I’m a bipolar teen who can’t seem to be tamed or satisfied with this hell-like life I live. I used to think that I was just depressed, but honestly, I like bipolar disorder better. With bipolar disorder, at least I can feel happiness for a few days. I’ve had depression for at least six years now. Let me tell you, it is a pain in the a** sometimes. Sometimes I really just want to get through the week without thinking of harming myself or just ending it all. But that’s it, I’m done pitying myself. It’s not fair to me or to you, since you’re reading this. Instead, I’m going to write how everything in my life is perfectly horrible and how I second-guess everything and deny every positive thing.

Section One: My Mother.
My mother, let me put it this way, is the bad kind of b****. I’m a b****, and I love it. She’s a only a b**** because I can’t think of a worse word to call someone. In fact, she’s not even a b****. She doesn’t deserve that kind of recognition. She’s the most insensitive person I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of insensitive people. She emotionally abused me as a child, along with some violence in there. Whenever I bring up something that she used to do to me, she denies it and laughs at me for making up such accusations. Ever since I was five, I have wished that my parents get divorced. What kind of five year old wants her parents to split up? Yes, me. That’s not even the beginning of how fucked up I am. Anyway, I’m planning to have a career in music. I’ve already been in several bands, and I am currently in two. She pretends to support me, but she really doesn’t. She makes it a point to be at my shows, but when she’s there, she complains about how traffic sucked and that she has to stand around the whole day. When I look at her in the audience, she stands there with her arms crossed, glaring at me. She has no faith in me, whatsoever.
Oh gosh, and if I’m ever in a bad mood, just forget it. She will scream at me for not talking, talking in a sassy tone, or for just sighing. Then when she’s being ridiculous, I can’t say anything. I just have to take her crap and not say anything – ever. When she found out that I was cutting myself, she actually SCREAMED AT ME. She got mad at me for hating myself. Hell, she hated me for hating myself. She still doesn’t accept me for who I am. Here’s a list of things that I will never be able to tell her:
-Who I love (a man much older than I who plays bass in a band) (he’s adorable and we like each other a lot)
-Where I want to move (in with my bassist babe)
-What I do with my friends
-What I wish I did with my friends (weed, of course)
-How I’m going to be a badass smoker alcoholic rocker chick
-That I really hate her and she brings no good to my life.
The other thing is that she buys me things. She buys me things to make up for her not supporting me. She feels like that’s okay. I mean it’s nice getting cool things, but 1) it’s never what I really want (it’s never a guitar) and 2) it doesn’t make up for love. I would give up so much of what I have to either just live with my dad or to have a mother who actually loved and accepted who I am.

But who the f*** cares? I don’t need her. I’ve practically raised myself these past few years and I turned out fine.

Section Two: My Bassist Babe
He may be thirty years older than I, but we’re made for each other. Once you accept/forget the age difference, we are actually really cute. I have the perfect personality for an older boyfriend, too. He’s not like those creepy pedophiles who lust over young girls simply because they’re young. He didn’t know how old I was until he asked me (I look a lot older than I actually am). He’s taken the opportunity to learn more about me and talk to me.
I met him the first time last June. We’ve seen each other three times, but each time the connection grows more intimate. Long story short, I believe he and his girlfriend split last September and I’m his next long-term girlfriend. The last time we were together, we hugged for like half an hour straight and he insisted that we keep in touch. We gazed into each other’s eyes and held each other at the elbows for a few minutes. I mean, this was five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact and amazingness. It’s a dream come true for me to find this man. I feel something with him that I have never felt before in my life. I think it’s true love, honestly. That means a lot coming from me. I honestly gave up on love right before I met him. I wasn’t out looking for a guy, I was simply myself. He fell for that. There’s just something about him. I’m smiling as I write about him. I was sobbing uncontrollably five minutes ago. I’m just so happy with him. He makes my world spin when I’m with him.
Anyway, I’m really excited. I’m seeing him the night before my birthday. In nineteen days, I’ll be in his arms. I’m kind of freaking out though. I mean, this time I will be legal to date the day after I see him. We were already all over each other at the last show, and each time it gets more intimate. I think we’ll make out, honestly. If it gets more intense than that, I guess I’ll have to stop it. Don’t worry, guys. I’m responsible and able to make my own decisions, good or bad. Damn, I still have to plan my outfit with my date with destiny (or Billy)!
This whole thing is a fairy tale to me. I keep denying that he likes me. I’m used to disappointment in that field, so I set myself up for failure most of the time. I mean, really? A successful, adorable, talented, good-looking, hilarious bassist likes me? ME? It’s just weird to think about.. is it screwed up that this is a dream come true? An older man loving me for me and wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing me on the cheek? It certainly feels good. A man begging me to email him and looking into my eyes? It certainly sounds good. His charcoal eyeliner outlining his big brown eyes, being partially hidden by his blonde hair? It certainly looks good. Him making a little moan as he presses his lips against my cheek as I throw my arms around him? Sounds like paradise. I’m fucked up, and so is he. We’re fucked up together, and that’s what makes all of this feel right. Just be happy that I found love. Society may hate it, but we hate society, so WE WIN.

Section Three: I don’t even know.
I just wish that we weren’t held to extreme standards. Life is for living. People forget that. If something makes you happy, do it. If someone makes you happy, be with them. If you want to jump off a cliff, hell, do whatever the f*** you want. This is life. It’s your life, my life, whoever-the-hell-you-want’s life. Standards shouldn’t be a thing. Who the hell cares about them anyway? They’re b*******. Do whatever the f*** makes you happy. Don’t take s*** from anyone. If there’s one thing I’ve learned and I will continue to believe for the rest of my life, it’s this:

It’s your life. Nobody can tell you how to live it. Life doesn’t come with a rule-book for a reason. I don’t know why Earth became this materialistic hell-hole, but if enough people realize that life is all about living, we could make this world amazing. Enough with all of this political b*******. DO whatever makes YOU happy. To hell with doing things that don’t make you happy. It’s a waste of time. We only have a certain amount of time in this life; we should learn to cherish it. Cherish every second that makes us feel good. Every minute that we are happy. That’s life. Doing what makes you happy and not giving a crap what anyone else thinks.

Thanks for reading.