Charlotte was a girl with many sides to her, many emotions. She stood outside her house on the front porch steps and watched the birds fly by her. She felt somewhat content as she watched. Her fingers were bloody, she had taken a knife and slit each finger slightly, just enough to let the blood run. She rubbed the blood and fingered it around, she felt powerful. Not all people with bipolar disorder were like this, but that's what Charlotte did. This was how she had a spent an empty sixteen years in misery. Misery and mania, two very unplesent things for her, and the people around her. She hadn't seem to find a singal friend to ride the wild rollocoaster with her. She sat outside by herself just thinking like she did for hours, just pondering the world.
I wonder what it's like to die. Was the first thought in her head. She played with her light well brushed black hair as she stared outside. The world is an evil place. Was the second thought she pondered.
If my own mother won't love me than no one ever will. I'm insane, and good God i don't like it. Her thouthts went on for a long time like this. Sometimes she cried when she felt the need to remember her miserable past of blood, tears, pain and hate. She was put up for adoption when she was seven and found out she was bipolar when she was ten. Lucky that she knew earlier rather than later but miserable all the same. Charlotte also lived with intense OCD. In fact, before she went back inside each day she counted to five. 1,2,3,4,5, then she took a deep breath and always putting her right foot first she walked in the house. These were the everyday dificulties that had to deal with, and worst of all she had to keep them a secret.