I’m suddenly quite depressed. No real reason why that I can discern. It just happens. One of the joys of being bipolar, I suppose.
I’ve been a moody one for most of my life. My mother used to complain that I wore my emotions on my sleeve and that life would eat me alive if I didn’t get tougher. I guess that in some respects she was right about that.
She did her fair share to contribute to the problem, though.
I remember being 12. We were living on Midway Island at the time. I used to go for walks in the rain and cry. I was under the impression that if I cried in the rain no would be able to tell. Of course, I was wrong. I’m wrong a lot.