Rock Bottom A great writer once said that if you hit rock bottom, there's no way to go but up. Well, the thing is, this sentiment doesn't really apply to me. I hit rock bottom when I failed all my classes in one semester in the university that was my first choice. I hit rock bottom when I got diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder at the tender age of 17. I hit rock bottom when my friends didn't stay by my side when I needed them most. I hit rock bottom when my dad got into an accident that paralyzed him from the neck down. I hit rock bottom when I finally got kicked out of my university. In each of these events, I'd always thought that things couldn't get any worse, but I was wrong about that. Things do get worse. And every time I hit rock bottom, I think that I'm lower than the dirt I'm lying on. 'Things will get better,' my mum once told me, 'You'll pull through. We'll pull through.' So I fake a smile and turn away from her, because I have no clue how to make things better, or to get out of this rut I'm in. Things seem hopeless for me. Logically, I know that there are people who are in situations that are worse than mine. I have yet to meet them. And I hate. I hate myself for being so insecure and pathetic, for being weak and miserable, for being immature and such a whiner. I'm just tired, and I want to sleep. Preferably forever. I wish I could end this with a sliver of hope, but I have none. I just don't know anymore.