I died with my self.

There is nothing left of me.

I killed myself while I am still living.

This could only happen within a bipolar mind like mine.

My bipolar mind killed me, the me I used to know.

I am having trouble finding a new person to call me again.

My angry bipolar mind caused me to behave in a way

that some may not be able forgive.

I did not know what else to do. My impulsive mind made me do it right now, at that moment in time.

I had held it in for too long. So out it came.

I couldn’t stop. The force was too strong and I couldn’t fight it any longer.

My internal urge had won, beat me. I lost that battle.

I am ashamed of myself, my behavior, my thoughts, my mind.

I loathe me.

A bipolar circle from the consequences of my behavior.

Shame, guilt and hate have overtaken my inner feelings and entire self.

My atrocious behavior is not against the law,

but is against my laws of kindness and love, the person I usually am and strive to be.

I dislike my rapid cycling bipolar roller coaster ride of hell I am on right now.

Climbed to the tip top of a very high happy hypomanic state for two days,

then instantly fell off the tracks of my high bipolar roller coaster ride,

crashing down so fast off the tracks into the ground digging a hole in the ground as I landed to the very bottom of this hell of something I am in right now.

Everything is so dark and dreary that I must be forced to be all alone in my bedroom with the door and blinds closed.

Suicidal ideations give me hope that there is a way to stop my pain,

 anger and hate,

dread and more dread,

and gloom and doom.

I am not close to suicide,

but at least the thoughts give me hope

that there could be something to stop my severe pain

and my ultradian rapid cycling bipolar roller coaster ride

to and from hell

and back again,

and again,

and

again

and

again

and

again…