My dog died.  He was my baby.  He got sick and was in pain, for days, I took him to the emergency room three times, and finally I took him to a different hospital and he didn’t come home again.  They said he probably had cancer in his spine.

It’s been three weeks, today, since he died.

I cry every day.

I’ve been suicidal.

I don’t see my life beyond this.  I can’t see it.

My therapist got upset because I’m suicidal.  She doesn’t usually get upset.  Sir thinks this time she’s scared and that’s what made her get angry.

She said that I make people in my life angry because I do things that make them think I’m thinking about suicide and won’t face my own anger.  I told her I don’t have anger, just pain, but she said I’m not facing my anger.

I’m not angry.  I just… hurt… too much.

Sir said that he’s not angry with me.  He said he knows I’m suicidal, even though I haven’t talked about it.  He said my therapist is wrong, though, that it doesn’t make him angry, and he doesn’t think I’m angry.

I know people don’t think I should feel this way for my dog.  But he was my person.  He was the only person I have that… He was… he was everything.  He kept me… together.

Unmedicated bipolar has only a 60% survival rate.  Sir reminded me of that.  Even without terrible things happening, people like me die, because we have a disease that kills us.  He says that isn’t my fault and I don’t have to hide it.  Then terrible things happen.

He says I’m not weak.  And he’s not mad at me for being sick.

I just… can’t… care…

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