Fuck Bipolar

Yeah, I said it. Fuck bipolar and the horse it rode in on.

I was just getting used to the whole "Hey, Lottie - you have ADD!" and now they're all, "our bad . . . you're bipolar. Tee hee!"

Pfft. ADD . . . bipolar . . . tennis elbow. My brain is a huge heaping pile of fail, got it.

No, I'm not glad that I finally have a name for what's wrong with me. No, I'm not relieved that there are meds to help clear out the crazy bats in my head. No, I refuse to look at myself as exceptional or unique.  I'm pissed off is what I am.

I've just been told that I'm always going to have this sluggish, stupid, and useless piece of baggage floating around in my head no matter what I do.  Sure, I can take medicine that keeps him locked up in the attic with all of the squirrels and rabbits, but he's gonna escape every now and then.  It'll probably be the rabbits, lord knows they're pretty slutty when it comes to bribes.