And so here I am… again. Back where I started. Sitting on the floor. Exhausted for no reason. Tears brewing. Eyes closing.
I felt so great last week. Now, I feel depressed. Nothing. Sad. Black. Cloud. Symptoms of depression that are straight from a 90’s movie, with an introspective and depressed teenage Claire Danes playing me.
Last week I was raw juicing. I was yoga-ing. I was parenting. I was doing it. I was living! I was smiling. Laughing. Washing my hair. Putting on makeup. And now…. I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like any of it.
Now I’m black-clouding. There is no reason, I just can’t seem to get at the joy under this big pile of nothingness. At least I remember it’s there. for now.
I read somewhere that people with Bipolar, can have symptom remission for years at a time. Maybe this is an urban myth. I had a fleeting thought that maybe the feeling of last week could hold for the next 20 years. Then, when I’m 50 and lose my mind again then, my kids will be older and I’ll have had 20 great years and I can call it a wrap. But no. This is not how it will be.
Maybe this is what my remission looks like? This sorta up and sorta down.
I had a great week or two where I felt mostly strong and capable and happy. And then I just wake up one morning and my head feels heavier and I’m confused and suddenly the lights are too bright and the kids voices are too loud and I never want to open my eyes again. Only I do… I’m sure this will pass. It just feels so horrible. Forcing a smile is too much effort. Knowing what I’m missing makes the pain all the more profound.
Do the meds work? Does the yoga and juicing even matter? Would it make any difference if I stayed up late, smoked pot and drank alcohol? I think it would. I think it matters.
I think that if despite all the good work that I’m doing to try to stay stable, I’m this unstable, I would probably be really really unstable without it. Without all my hard work, I would not have had two great weeks. I probably wouldn’t even have two good days. The medication that I take is called an anti-psychotic for a reason. It keeps me from being psychotic. And for that, my kids are grateful.
So, I’m happy. I’m depressed today. But I’m happy.