So, here I am again, sitting in my car, smoking cigarette after cigarette, trying to do something besides beat myself up. I have two beautiful children. Innocent and perfect. That's suppose to be enough. It should be enough. The three of us live in a motel, off the highway, a hop and a skip from, whose suppose to be, my man/baby daddy's job. ("My man" is the only label I'll put on us) It's not at all where I want to be. My man will not do anything besides drive a truck and go to his mother's house and do nothing with the kids. By the way, I suffer from bipolar and sever depression caused by chemical deficiencies in my brain. So when I am not able to takes my meds, it's like everyday is the worst day over and over and over again. When I call my man, having an episode, wanting to jump off a building, he tells me to call a hotline, he wasn't trained to deal with people like me. Now keep in mind, I don't have any family or friends ... Literally. (In the actual definition way) So I'm alone. If I don't have anything besides mental illness to offer my children and there is no one who cares about me, why do I exist? I'm like the tree that fell alone in the forest, will anyone even be phased. Everyone will live a better life. I'm just not enough.