The Hardest Thing
Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve written a mental health blog. A really long time. I’m not sure that I’m getting back into it or if this will be a one time thing. What I do know is that I need to write this for me and because of my nature, I feel compelled to share it with you:
I’m depressed. I’ve been trying to ignore it all week, but all the signs are there. I haven’t had the energy to do the things that I normally enjoy like going to the gym or reading. I haven’t wanted to watch my favorite TV shows. The things that I normally find joy in seem to have no appeal. I’ve been faking my way through my days, but I retreat to my bedroom halfway through the day absolutely exhausted and end up napping for a couple of hours just to survive the evening. I’m most content when I’m alone in my room, shut off from the world, avoiding my friends…avoiding my life.
It’s ironic really. I was speaking to a social work class on Monday about grief and loss and mentioned that I generally have a good sense of when I’m becoming depressed or manic. This time I don’t think I wanted to know. I wanted to, just this once, live in blissful ignorance. Things in my life were going so well. I’m invested in my work both at school and Heifer International. I have amazing friends who I love. I’m assistant coaching a basketball team at the local Boys and Girls Club and I can tell already that it is going to bring me great joy. I should be happy. All the ingredients are there. I should be happy. But I’m not.
I told the students in the grief and loss class that the hardest thing about bipolar disorder is that things can be doing amazing well and then BOOM out of nowhere, it all fails apart. I’m tired of it all falling apart. I’m tired of not being able to will myself to happiness. I’m tired of wishing there was something I could do to quash the depressive thoughts when they surge like a flood into my content mind. Helplessness is a pretty terrible feeling. I much prefer to be in control. (I’m sure a lot of us do.) It’s why I’ve never had any alcohol. It’s why I never did any illicit drugs. I always play it safe. Bipolar disorder doesn’t really care so much about that. Depression doesn’t care if things are going well in my life. Depression doesn’t care if I have people in my life that love me. Depression doesn’t care how much good I do for my community and how good that should feel. Nothing can absolve me from the onslaught of pain and hopelessness that has become a recurring theme in my life since the time I was 13 years old.
Today was the first time I’ve logged onto this blog in months so I just found a comment that someone left a while back. It was an insightful quote that I’m choosing to draw some strength from today:
“He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life” -Alexandre Dumas
Sometimes I think we only say things like that to make us feel better about going through the hard times. (I have to think that I’d be comfortable with extreme happiness all the time.)
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