Well. It's been almost a full 2 months since I've written anything. I've had things to say, I just haven't said them. I haven't been inspired to write. But today I want to focus on what's bothering me now. And that's depression.
I'm in a trough right now, a deep depression. I don't even really know where to start. So here goes:
It started about 3-3.5 weeks ago, before my last ECT treatment. I started having symptoms of depression. They started out mild and then got worse after ECT (aren't they supposed to get better after ECT? Yeah, I thought so . . .). I kept downplaying them, ignoring them, hiding them. I was alright, this was no big thing. But they were so damn persistent. The negative thoughts became all encompassing, they started to take over. Suicidal thoughts crept in, vying for attention, slowly taking over. I let my hubby know, I let a couple of friends know. Just as a safeguard. Nothing serious, but this is going on, thought you should know. I continued to downplay it. I'd make it through.
Then last Saturday (the 25th) I was at work. And I was really struggling. I was so depressed. I was so empty and lost and withdrawn. My mind was complete chaos - negative thoughts, suicidal thoughts all crashing around, making it hard to concentrate, making it hard to breathe. I tried to keep up the facade. I tried interacting with patients, coworkers. I tried joking around. I tried. And then I lost it. I started crying. I started sobbing really. A coworker saw me and came over to help. She asked what was wrong. "I don't know if you know this," I said. "But I'm bipolar and I'm in a depressive episode and I'm having suicidal thoughts and I want to cut and I don't know what to do." She hugged me and told me to hold on. She went and told the charge nurse who called our manager. The charge nurse came up to me and hugged me and got me to calm down and suggested that I go home for the rest of the day. Even at my worst I've never been sent home. This was a first for me.
My hubby stayed with me the rest of the day. He stayed with me all day Sunday. Monday, I worked again. I wanted to go, I wanted to try. I made it through the day but it was difficult and tiring. I spoke with my manager and let her know what was going on. Tuesday I was home and I didn't get much accomplished. Wednesday I had a mandatory meeting at work which was difficult to sit through. I kept thinking about cutting and dying.
On Thursday I had therapy and I told my therapist everything. All about my suicidal thoughts, my plan, cutting, being sent home, everything. And I narrowly avoided being sent to the hospital for an inpatient psychiatric stay. How did I avoid it you ask? I have an amazing relationship with my therapist and we trust each other. I called my hubby and the 3 of us came up with a safety plan. I also called my psychiatrist's office and sadly learned that he is out of the country until the 11th. So no help there. I see my therapist again on Monday.
Here's the thing: My therapist said it and I'm positive my psychiatrist would say it too. I'm in a bipolar trough. The purpose of my meds and the ECT is to keep me as stable as possible for as long as possible but this is part of the natural ebb and flow of bipolar disorder. I'm going to have ups and downs and hopefully the meds will keep those ups and downs more mild and shorter lasting.
And I get that. I do. But I still call bullshit. It's easy to sit back and say that when you're not the one going through it. But when you're sitting on the floor sobbing, wishing your life would end, you don't care if this is the natural rhythm of your disorder. You just want to feel better. And that's where I'm at. I just want to fucking feel better. I don't want to "ride this out". It's been 3 weeks already. It might be another 3 weeks. Or longer. People keep telling me I'm strong for pulling through this. I don't feel strong. I feel weak. I feel like giving up. I have to deal with this for the rest of my life. And I'm not sure I can do that.
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