Dear Gawd, it’s been months since I wrote here, December 2010 to be exact. Makes sense to me, I stopped doing just about everything starting around August of last year. I got depressed. Very depressed. Words can’t even do it justice, but please don’t think I’m talking about weeping for a few days and not being able to get out of bed. I sobbed everyday for six months, cooked up a plan to kill myself, and let my self-owned business fall away, leaving me with no dignity, no self respect, and no will to live.
Things were bad. And they had been bad for a long time, when, one night in January, I got moving on that plan I’d made and scared myself, thank gawd, before things got deadly. I rallied the next day, got in touch with a psychiatrist, and have been doing the “better living through chemistry” shuffle ever since. Try this med with that med in this combination: stare at the ceiling for a week of nights. Tweak that med, add this med: eat as if there were no tomorrow. Revisit med combination number one, add a prescription sleep aid: go back to option three and up the voltage; sob daily, miss work, wonder if the depression before the medication wasn’t actually more manageable, wait and wait and wait and finally come upon a cocktail that has kept me stable for 3 weeks now. The shrink is patting himself on the back and smiling gleefully: success! I’m skeptical. But that might be the depression talking.
So, there you are on where I am. I’m scheming to get myself out of the bad decisions I made while I was bottoming out: I’d love to get out of this hovel I moved into, get my business back, quit the horrible job my Dad was good enough to give me. It’s in accounting for a Defense Contracting firm. I am a Holistic Health Counselor who majored in Art. Not a good match.
Coming up out of the sludge and looking around at the wreckage of my present is a little, well, depressing. But now that I’ve got some mental stability it’s highly likely that I can get my life back. It will probably take more time than I want to spend, but meanwhile I have a roof over my head, a boyfriend who has stuck by me through all of the angst and late night suicidal ideologies, and health insurance, which is a true gift: those drugs are expensive.
They’re calling it “bipolar with depressive episodes”. I’m calling it “that bad time I had”.
November 29, 2011 at 1:39 am |
Wow. Welcome back. That’s tough when the body affects the mind, the mind affects the living situation, and around and around. I wish you much strength on your journey. It sounds like you’re finding your way back.