I'm in med school right now, and sadly, not doing so well. I don't even know what to tell my parents, or how to begin. It's a very humbling experience coming to terms with the fact that you're not as smart as you think you are. Or that now you'll always be carrying this heavy problem around with you, that you'll have to take care of It first, in order to take care of yourself. That if you're not careful enough with how you take care of It, sometimes you'll no longer be at the wheel of your own life. Just in the backseat watching yourself crash. Very dramatic.

I got a working diagnosis for Bipolar II last November from a psychiatrist and never went back for another appointment. She wanted to talk about my past traumas and I wasn't ready to deal with that time bomb. I told my Mom about the diagnosis and she surmised I don't pray enough. So that's where we left the discussion since none of us were in the mood for fighting. Now she just doesn't talk about it. My first year in med school was a disaster to be honest, so much so that in the university I'm at, I had to redo my first year. I think I've made it to second year by the skin of my teeth but I'm not sure. I'm not sure. In a way I'm hoping I didn't so I can drop out of the program and figure out what to do with myself from there on.