TRIGGER WARNING: I thought I heard a slight humming.

Mayberry My Ass

My bedroom is right next to the guest bathroom. I was in the middle of a massive anxiety attack and meltdown.

My dad was in the bathroom as I was screaming and crying. Bellowing in excruciating emotional pain. The “why” is a whole ‘nother blog post.

My dad finished his business in the bathroom and walked right past my door. And I swear I thought I heard him humming a cheerful tune. He tends to hum The Andy Griffith Show theme song all the time, but I couldn’t tell which tune it was.

I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, nor did I “want” anyone to open the door. But I didn’t want anyone to NOT open the door.

Not opening the door felt like no one cared. Or that I was in a parallel universe. Or that I was crazy. Or that reality wasn’t really real.

And the humming drive-by was new. My dad never did that before.

My family thinks I do this for attention. I see it in the eye rolls, the face palms, the stares at each other.

Why don’t I just kill myself? Will the prove it? I mean my life is pointless, right? I’m trap in my house, no kids, no husband. I never see my friends.

What’s the point? I have zero impact on the world, and I just annoy those around me. So, if anything, … I don’t know.

But I’m just being a drama queen. That’s what us bipolar people are, right? Drama queens (and kings).

Isn’t it interesting when you hear your friends and family tell you that they knew/know someone that was/is BP and they seem so sympathetic? But when it comes to you, they look at you with annoyance? WTF?!

Fuck the world.

I know I need to forgive. But BP folks have to forgive ALL THE TIME! And it’s exhausting. Forgiving is an active verb. And it’s HARD! And to do that on a daily/weekly basis when it comes to something as deeply personal as BP is sometimes too much.

It can push you over the edge.

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