I knew a day would arrive when I would type these words on a laptop screen. Beside my laptop, there's a mirror that reflects an image of a withered girl, her head tilted under headphones, her face devoid of a smile and marked with tears. She seems lost in her own world. It was a lively Saturday morning when I met two friends, but suddenly, I felt isolated, trapped within myself.

Let's label these friends as A and B. Observing their laughter and joy, I felt distant. They talked to me, but was it me who made myself distant without even realizing it? Out of the blue, I uttered "I don't like you" to my friend B. She brushed it off with a smile, saying "I know, bish!" and then we laughed together. But inside, I knew it wasn't a joke. And then my other friend A took my phone and transferred some of our photos to her phone. But unintentionally, I deleted those shared photos as we sat side by side, feeling a turmoil I couldn't comprehend. "Do I truly hate them?" I asked myself. I don't, I am certain about this. But something within me is tearing things, including myself, apart.

One of them asked, "Do you have Bipolar disease?" I asked how she knew, and she said, "With the things that you do, it's observant!" That passing comment about bipolar disorder struck me hard, taking me back to the day my counselor labeled me with type 1 bipolar disorder. Regret flooded me as I remembered rejecting the medication my psychologist prescribed. I thought I could fix myself, but now I feel like I'm spiraling. I've glimpsed dark corners, whispered to myself about endings. I've got five lovely friends that I adore so much. But I remember cautioning myself not to get too close, not to get too attached, and not to expect too much from friends. Yet, I yearn for that understanding bond, a best friend who truly gets me.

Returning home drained, I'm met with my mother's words, laden with contempt. "This child is a menace," she says. Her words sting, especially knowing she never extended a hand when my mind was in disarray. I've mastered the art of pretending; everyone believes I'm okay. This year, though, I found a teacher, someone I confide in more than my own family. I try with my friends, but there are boundaries to what I share.

Inside, there's a tempest raging, tearing at the fabric of my being. It's an ache I struggle to express, a turmoil I'm lost within. Amidst this chaos, I question whether confiding in my friends will label me as an attention seeker, fearing their judgment as I navigate this labyrinth of emotions.