I’m sixteen, and I just got out of rehab for the second time.  My first truly committed relationship just ended, and I’m not taking it easily. I”m on new medications, and I was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

I haven’t self-harmed in fourteen months, but it might as well be fourteen hours.  Recently, I’ve opened doors I thought were cemented shut. It’s extremely painful.

I keep telling myself I need to go out, live my life again, check out guys at the mall and go trick-or-treating. It works, for a while. But then the sun goes down, the rest of the world goes to bed, and I lie awake on my tear-soaked pillow wondering where I went wrong. Why do I need two different kinds of psychotropic meds just to function? Why is it that, every time I think I’ve got this “life” thing, I drop it again?

I know it all sounds so self-pitying, I know. I’ve posted previously, sounding positive and intelligent. That’s my biggest problem. I can articulate an idea of who I want to be so clearly, I convince myself that I’m already there. When my intelligence fails me, I stumble, and I realize I’m right back where I was: self-hating, self-pitying, and selfish.

My dreams are filled with SI and my ex. They happen every night, and they’re inescapable. I feel like Alex DeLarge, forced to watch everything I’ve done, every mistake I’ve made, and becoming physically ill.

I feel like a child slowly learning to speak. I can no longer throw my SI temper tantrums. Once, I would have expressed this pain through self-injury. Now, I’m a big girl, and I’m being forced to use my words. They come out thick, like my tongue is swollen and numb. Slowly they dilute into something usable, something cleat. Still, I often question whether or not the pain involved is really worth it.

My brain won’t let me hold my emotions in its reservoir, as the dams have crumbled into themselves and taken my ability to justify my self-harm with them. The only way for them to go is out.

I’m afraid I’m not ready…