Am I depressed, bipolar, or psychotic? Am I really fucked up, or do I just think I am because I, somehow, want to be? Does that count for anything? Am I really destroying my mind with each passing day, or am I just a normal person with normal problems? Do I simply have a short temper with dangerous anger problems? Or is there something more going on, deep inside my mind? Am I purposefully destroying myself, from the inside out, because it's somehow exhilarating?

If I had health insurance, I'd know this. But when I turned nineteen, I got kicked off whatever I was on. Even though I'm a full-time college student. And now I can't get on Medicare because my household makes too much money. Even though we could never afford insurance on our own. This healthcare system is fucked up. And now I can't get the medical attention I need. I was on anti-depressants, so I needed to see my psychiatrist every three months. I also saw a social worker (when I wasn't at college). I also have a tube in my stomach that needs to be changed every three months. I had to go over half a year without changing it because I lost insurance. I finally found a charity program that allowed me to get it changed for free. But it got pretty fucked up, and I had stomach pains for a while. It's still a little messed up. But yeah. This healthcare thing is amazing. I'd have to move out of my house just to get insurance!

Well, maybe moving out isn't a bad idea. I hate my life here. I don't get along with my mother at all. My dad and I clash too often. My parents barely get along, too. Insanity runs in the family. (My dad's aunt, for example, spent time in a loony bin.) So does diabetes and alcoholism. Point is, three psychotic people living in the same household is a very unstable thing. Especially when one of us is depressed (maybe even my mother, too), and one of us might be bipolar (maybe even my father, too). Is there a such thing as a mild, non-life-threatening version of bipolar disorder?

But, whatever may be wrong with me, my parents need to know that it's not just me. While I may fly off the handle way too often, they need to realize that they push me off the edge more often than they'd like to admit. It's not just me. None of us in this house are mentally stable. But they push all the blame on me, because it's the easiest. And until they admit it's not all me, I won't admit it's me at all.

If only we had insurance. Then we all could get help. Individual counseling for each of us. Marriage counseling for them. Family counseling for all of us. But is there even anything worth saving or fixing here? Sometimes I think there's just too much wrong with us to even bother. Maybe the only solution is to get individual counseling while they get a divorce and I move out. I think that'd be easiest.

And it makes me cry to think that's the only solution.