“I’m bipolar.” “Bipolar?” I croaked back. “What do you mean you’re bipolar, Liz?” “Mm-hmm.” “Is that what they diagnosed you with?” I asked, feeling beyond concerned for my friend, while I worked frantically to register the word bipolar and bring what information I had on the matter to the forefront of my mind. “Liz?” Sitting straight up, I took her hand in mine, feeling a million complicated emotions crash through me all at once. “Did the doctors say you’re bipolar?” “Mm-hmm.” “Liz.” At a complete loss, I stared down at the girl I’d spent most of my childhood adoring and croaked out, “Why
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