To the few that may remember me, I've been through hell and back. I'm 17 years old. After one serious suicide attempt (I jumped off the end of a pier) and four psych ward visits (all in one summer), I was discharged with Bipolar 1 (or schizzoaffective-- the diagnoses are sometimes pretty flimsy) whilest I could barely read and had to hear sentences put together with one word at a time. When I was on the ward, I had wide ranging dellusions, from believing that I would invent a new form of math, to being on another planet, to being pregnant, to having fought in some imagined war. Each time, I came to the hospital through the emergency room-- in one case, the security guard near me said that "Satan had me by the balls." (not a good thing to say to a suicidal and at times psychotic young man). The psych ward had everything from eating disorder patients to one guy who was going around patting people on the back while talking about the seven deadly sins. Psychiatric hospitals work on a rigid schedule where each day feels the same (Groundhog Day, anyone?) and everything is planned to the minute. Somehow, since school started (I skipped two grades and am in a community college), I managed to get the highest scores in the class on 2 essay exams. I guess it is largely due to the fact that I have an amazingly supportive family. I still worry though, that sometime I might sink back down to the bottom. I don't really have any phobias-- however, every time I look down from the fifth floor of my school building, I get scared that one day I might throw myself over on an errant impulse.