Melancholy Baby

This is quite an interesting depression… least, that’s how I’m thinking of my recent downturn in mood and general attitude. Not that I want to feel it—I hate being depressed worse than almost anything—but it’s almost like this one wants me to experience it in full, and to learn from it.

At least I’m not in denial, like I tend to be whenever I go the opposite way. No, I’m perfectly cognizant of the fact that I feel like shit, and I have a pretty good idea of where it came from. I also know that I’ll be OK eventually, because my percentage of making it through stuff like this is 100% thus far.

I still hate it.

It’s not as though I couldn’t have called my p-doc yesterday and whined. But I didn’t, partially because I really haven’t suffered bad enough for long enough to make a big fat hairy-assed deal out of it, and I want to see if I can get through this without having to go back on the antidepressant. I REALLY don’t want to have to go through this withdrawal thing another time, and I’m sure that’s exactly what I’d have to do because the AD probably contributed to my frequent manic episodes. No use doing that again if I can help it.

Besides, there is a quality to this melancholy spell that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I sense that there is some great truth waiting to be discovered, and short-circuiting that process by medicating it would hurt me in the long run. It’s not as though it’s crippling me; I want to call in sick at work because I don’t feel like socializing or talking to people, but I’m fine once I get there. I want to sleep all day, but I’m sticking to the schedule Dr. A prescribed for me and know I’m better off for not deviating from it. I want to stay in my pajamas and NOT brush my hair, but I’m not giving into it because marinating in my own laziness is the worst thing I can do.

Of course, all of this could be the preliminary to a serious depression, and I have indeed been known to experience such episodes at this time of year. In fact, around this time last year I was half-convinced I wanted out……and if it hadn’t been for knowing that my family would never have gotten over it, I might have gone off the deep end. Now THAT’S depressed. I don’t feel anywhere near that bad, and suicidal ideation isn’t even on the table. I’ve got plenty to live for—my husband alone is worth hanging in there!—and even though I’m upset and irritable and sad now, I know there will be a time when I won’t feel this way.

I keep telling myself, “This, too, shall pass”. I just hope it does so sooner rather than later. I got things to do, people to annoy, and holidays to plan…..ain’t NOBODY got time for this!




Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

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