it's midnight and i don't think sleep is coming soon. my heart is racing and my head is racing and i so badly want to get high, to forget, to erase, to escape. these new meds are giving me the munchies, fierce munchies and i am so weak, i give in and have spent the last week eating, eating, eating. i hate myself for being so weak. well it's not like i need an excuse, most days i can just hate myself for any old reason. the doc sez i'm bipolar, and that i'm the only one who thinks i'm not. the nurse sez let's wait and see, as does the psych team. fuck. fuck. fuck. the label scares me. the thought of taking meds for years on end scares me. the thought of being hospitalized scares me. the thought that a large % of people with bipolar eventually kill themselves scares me, too. my therapist wants me to think about why i choose to punish myself so much and i can't tell her the real reason, the reason that i carry with me in my heart. i deserve it. i deserve every shitty thing that has happened to me - the abuse, the beatings, the rape. i hate having a file at the psych hospital. i hate that they write letters to my doctor. i hate that he thinks i'm fooling myself. i hate these mood swings. i hate being taken advantage of. i hate the munchies. i hate myself. i don't know how to escape being me.