Murro is for you if you live with bipolar disorder or borderline personality disorder (BPD). It is built around those two — around episodes, around medication, around the way memory fails exactly when you need it most. You don’t need to be good at anything. Just come as you are. If you have no diagnosis and your mood is unsteady, you are welcome too. Just know it was built for those two.
When your mood is unsteady, it’s easy to lose your footing. This app is a simple daily anchor. A couple of minutes a day: note how you slept, how you ate, how you feel. Over time those small dots reveal patterns — for you and for your doctor.
The main thing: this is not a doctor and not a replacement for treatment. It sits alongside your psychiatrist or psychotherapist, never instead of them.
The heart of the app. Here you note sleep, mood, food, small wins, and a score for how the day went. You don’t have to fill in everything. Even one dot is already good. If writing is hard, under the day’s note there is “Say it out loud”: up to 30 seconds of voice. The recording stays on this phone only, encrypted — it does not go to the server, it is not in the report or the export, and the companion cannot hear it. Signing out removes them.
Mark what you’ve eaten today — breakfast, lunch, dinner, a snack — so eating doesn’t slip your mind. Appetite often goes off in hard periods. You can add a few words: what you ate, why so little or so much.
Just how much there was that day — or that there wasn’t any. There is no dry-day counter here and there won’t be: a number that resets to zero after a hard evening announces failure at exactly the moment you have least to spare. Days recorded stay recorded, nothing counts up, so nothing can reset. The point is the other thing: seeing what alcohol does to your sleep and to the next day — and in bipolar disorder that is one of the most visible levers there is.
If you want more detail — here you can note the timing of your daily routines: the first contact with another person, the first activity of the day, dinner. The steadier your daily rhythm, the steadier your state. It’s optional — open it when you feel like it.
This is an AI bot, not a person and not a therapist. You can vent to it, ask for a calming technique, or just sort out what’s going on. It knows your recent entries, so it understands context. It never messages first and never pressures you. Before every reply there is a separate crisis check that does not depend on the model itself. And it reads only the last few days, not everything you have ever written — exactly what it sees is shown on the page “What this app knows about you”.
The companion sees the topics of your past conversations and when they were, but not the words in them — it deliberately never reads the text back. So the same thing gets explained every time. So there are a few lines you write for yourself: “I work nights, that’s why my sleep looks like this”, “my mother died in March”, “there is nobody to ring”. It sees them every time. They are your words: the app never writes anything here itself and draws no conclusions from them, and you can erase them in one tap. It does not affect the crisis screen — that works no matter what. The field is on “What the app knows about you”, in Profile.
When it’s really stormy — here you can note emotions and urges (including the urge to harm yourself). If the levels are high, the app offers help right away.
Short exercises drawn from DBT and CBT, for hard moments — to ride out an acute wave instead of fighting it blind. There is also “People and conversations”: how to say the hard thing, how to say no without a fight, and what to do when it feels like you’ve been rejected.
Your personal steps and contacts for a crisis. It’s best filled in ahead of time, in a calm moment — so in a hard one you don’t have to think, just open it. There is also a “Crisis passport” — one page on paper: your people, what helps, what to put out of reach, which medication, and the emergency number. For when the phone is flat, left at home, or in a hospital locker. The button is at the top of the safety plan.
The safety plan is about what you do. This card is about what the person beside you does. Five things you write yourself: what it looks like when it starts; what helps; what does NOT help; what to say; when to ring, and whom. The third is the most important — nobody knows what makes it worse until you say so. It prints, and you give it to one person. The app adds no word of its own about your condition. The button is at the top of the safety plan.
The Help button is on every screen of the app. One tap opens real hotline numbers for your country and a few steps for right now. Nothing needs filling in first, and nothing is sent anywhere. If you are reading this without an account, the help button is on this page too.
Your own early signs that things are starting to slide — so you can catch it before it takes over.
For the hour when you want to write something you can’t take back. A fight, being left on read, the feeling that someone is leaving you. You write everything you want to say, and you DON’T send it. You choose when to come back: 20 minutes, an hour, or the morning. Then the app shows it to you again and asks: let it go, say it differently, or send it yourself. Usually half of it survives, and that half is more accurate. The app sends nothing to anyone — it can’t. It is just a place for words to wait. You can always open it early. First you’ll see one sentence you once wrote to yourself.
Short chapters on what is actually known about bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder: where this goes next, what fades on its own and what stays for a long time, why being turned down hits so hard, why a high is nearly always missed. This is general information about the conditions, not a conclusion about you — there is not one word in it about anything you have written down, and the app does not read those texts. Every chapter ends in one question that follows from it. One tap puts it on the doctor list, so you do not have to reconstruct it at the appointment. Read it once, on a calm day. There is no need to go there on a bad one.
Two simple things. First: you can park something you want to buy — for an hour, six hours or a day. When the time is up the app asks once: still want it? Often the wanting passes on its own by then. Second: you can record what you already bought, and the amount if you want to. Then you can see where the money went over the last 30 days. No budgets, no “you overspent”, no red — just a list and one sum, so you don’t have to guess. What isn’t here: the app can’t see your card and can’t block anything. The pause holds only because you hold it. That’s why there are also “words to yourself” — one sentence you write in a calm moment and see if you go to lift a hold early. You can always lift it — you’ll just read your own words first.
If you have been away for a few days or a few weeks, the app will not ask you to fill in what you missed and it counts nothing. The missed days stay missed. Instead it shows you what you once wrote about your own early signs — both sides, the high and the low, because without recent entries the app has no business deciding which one this is. The card appears once per gap and can be dismissed.
There are no streaks and no “days in a row”, no “you missed”, no badges, no counters, no reminders about what you did not do. No “we detected an episode” and no rating of your state. A skipped week breaks nothing, an honest answer is never punished, the help button never hides and never gets quieter. This is not something unfinished — it is the rule every decision here was made by: the app has to be safe on your worst day and must not add stress on top of what is already there. Everything that usually keeps people in apps through pressure was thrown out deliberately. And if it is not one hard day but a stretch, the folded view offers “let it stay like this”: a few quiet days, nothing recorded about it, ending by itself in a week, and “show the rest” available at any moment.
The things that matter work without a connection: today’s medication (you can still tick it off — it saves when the signal returns), the safety plan, your people on the Help screen, and your lab results and questions for the doctor. The app keeps a copy on the phone itself, encrypted with a key that cannot be taken out of it. The copy goes when you sign out. If a screen says “no connection — from this phone”, that is what you are looking at.
In Profile there’s a “Something not working?” box — write there, even briefly. The app attaches only technical details: which screen, your window size, language, browser, and whether you were online. Your entries, conversations, medications and diary card are never attached. If email suits you better, the address is right there.
Sleep, mood and your daily routine over weeks. Single dots add up to a picture you can show your doctor. Regularity of the daily rhythm is not cosmetic — it is one of the few things with real trial support in bipolar disorder.
Your year as one picture, woven from what you wrote. Nothing is judged and nothing is counted — not even the number of days. A missed day is air in the cloth, not a hole. It prints as a poster. The button is under the weave on the Rhythm screen.
A search across what you wrote yourself: day notes, what you got done, therapy notes, questions for the doctor, the pause for words. “When did this start?” almost always has its answer in your own record. The search runs on the phone itself — the word you type is never sent anywhere — and the app counts nothing and concludes nothing from what turns up. The button is on the Rhythm screen, under the weave.
Write them exactly as printed on the form: name, date, value, and who ordered it if you like. Murro interprets nothing, never says whether a value is normal, and never tells you a test is due — the interval belongs to your doctor, not to an app. The point is simply that the last result is in your hand in the room, and prints on the report. The button is on the home screen, beside “Ask the doctor”.
A screen for the appointment itself. In one place: your questions, your medication with doses, how long the prescription runs, the latest results — and a field for what was said. You can mark a question asked so you do not lose your place in the conversation: the line stays on screen, just struck through. It works with no signal — a clinic usually has none, so everything needed sits encrypted on the phone, and the note goes up as soon as there is a connection. It is not a medical record, it is what reached you: doses in “Medication” do not change from it, you change those by hand at home. Appointments are not counted anywhere. Open it from the tools drawer on the main screen or from the doctor report.
Every medicine that has ever been on your list stays here — even after you stop taking it: when it started, when it stopped, why it stopped, and what you wrote about it on a calm day. This page exists for one question, the one asked at the first appointment with every new doctor: “what have you already tried?”. It usually has to be reconstructed from memory, which is exactly why the same thing gets tried again a few years later. The app adds nothing here and judges none of it: this is only what you entered yourself. It can be printed separately from the report.
The app can remind you about your medication at times you choose, and about a therapy day. The notification never names the medication, so nothing revealing shows on your lock screen to whoever is nearby. Turn it on in Settings, separately on each device: if you turn them on for your laptop, they won’t arrive on your phone. The same place shows when the last reminder actually reached a device — so silence doesn’t go unnoticed. If a day should not count for medication — hospital, a holiday, a doctor who said to pause — you can mark it as not counted: in the tracker under your medicines, or in the card of any past day. Nothing is deleted; that day simply stays out of the percentage, and the doctor report says how many days were not counted. The app never asks why.
Separately from medication, you can turn on quiet evening messages: an invitation to log the day, a technique for today, or simply “skipping a day is fine”. At most one a day. They never bring up missed days and never count streaks, because gaps happen exactly when things are already hard.
Missing a day is fine. This isn’t an exam, and nobody is grading you. Do as much as you can today.
If Murro stops — what then