Cue the pictures of the beautiful home.

My son is smart, resourceful, well-liked and cute.

My SO is every dream I’ve ever dreamed in the history of always for how I’d be loved and wanted.

My friends are happy and smiling people.

It’s Christmas and our home is filled with elves on shelves, twinkle lights, hidden gifts and cookies for Santa.

Tell me then, why on this beautiful and star encrusted December night I can think of nothing more than not waking up tomorrow because each day is more painful than the previous. My bipolar depression does not care if my little boy has to be picked up from school, if my house needs to be cleaned, if I have pictures to edit, if I have a date night, or anything. It’s merciless in its onslaught and pursuit of my life and I’m terrified one day it’ll catch up and I won’t win.