Bipolar Vulnerability.

Editor's Note: The following is unreasonable whinging. Treat it as such. These are not the musings of a person who has been misused, they're the idle tantrums of a child maturing.

My heart is a pendulum.

Open.

[swing]

Guarded.

[swing].

Honest

[swing]

Devious.

[swing]

Bold.

[swing]

Terrified.

Do me a favour, humanity: If you're going to keep trying to coax me from my shell, you might want to stop celebrating every inch of advancement by YANKING MY CHAIN.

I care deeply. . .but I forgot that event was this weekend--sorry you can't make it!

Well, I'm looking forward to spending time with you. . . oh, I'm scheduled to spend more than half of the two quiet days with other people, is that alright?

I love you. . . but I don't make sacrifices. They're uncomfortable.

Here's a hint, boys and (especially) girls: if you want Patrick to become the man he used to be, or better yet the one you dream of him becoming, stop saying you're different than him and then quietly doing what he would have done openly and honestly.

I may have been emotionally unavailable, irresponsible and unreliable, but at least I wasn't a gorram hypocrite.

I am very, very near the moment where I say this whole experiment has been a waste and go back to the life I was living, because I'm starting to realize I was the most honest person I knew.