You made me crazy. I’ve always been depressed due to my bipolar. But you sent me beyond that. Blacking our while driving. Having such bad panic attacks that I felt I couldn’t breathe. You gave me PTSD. This past November I couldn’t handle it anymore. I almost ended my life. You almost killed me. My fiancé and best friend had to call the cops on me. I was questioned and handcuffed in my own apartment and taken to the hospital in the back of a police car in the middle of the night. I was admitted to the psych ward against my will for a week. I pretended like I was getting better just to get out of that hell hole. I still want to kill myself some days. The only thing keeping me alive is my family, fiancé, and my beautiful 5 year old daughter. I still don’t think it’s fair that I have to continue living with what you did to me. When do I get to feel the relief of death without the guilt of hurting so many people?
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