Hello, my name is... Well, that's not important. What is important is my story. When I was thirteen years old, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It was the worst day of my life. I remember it was raining. The doctor said the words, "You have bipolar disorder." There were about three minutes of complete silence. I could hear the pounding rain outside. It was like a steady bass drum. I could hear the occasional crack of thunder. The room flashed with light from the lightning outside. I felt like the entire room turned dark. The silence was interrupted with a quiet, "I'll leave you guys alone to talk." The doctor left, my parents made sure I was okay, and then we drove home. Well, this is my life.
YOU ARE READING
The End
Historia Corta"Hello, My name is, well, that's not important. What is important is my story" TRIGGER WARNING~ THIS STORY MIGHT BE A LITTLE EXTREME FOR SOME PEOPLE. This is a short story project we are working on in my school. I hope you like it!
