10/23/17

I've been struggling quite a bit with my recent depression and mixed episode or rapid cycling . . . whatever you want to call it. Mostly it's been the depression, as it always is. That damn depression . . .

It's been bad since September. Really bad I mean. Suicidal bad. Missing work bad.

I'm at this point where I step back and look at my illness, my bipolar disorder, and I see it for what it is: an illness that I'm going to have for the rest of my life. An illness that I'll never be symptom free from. I'll always have ups and downs at random and the goal of treatment is to keep these to a minimum or less intense or shorter in duration. But I'm always going to be fighting this illness. Always. And honestly, that's a hard pill to swallow. See, even on my days where I'm okay I still have symptoms. I still have depression. I still have anxiety. I still deal with the chaotic environment that is my mind.

People tell me that I'm strong, that I'll make it through, that I can do this. Those people are wrong. I'm not strong. I'm not living, people. I'm existing. I'm going through the motions. Everything is grey and dull and just . . . just pointless. Nothing matters, not really. It doesn't really matter if I'm dead or alive because nothing I do makes a difference. My hubby tells me that this is the depression lying to me. Maybe it is. But these thoughts circulate through my head every single fucking day. They're nearly constant. And don't worry - I'm a good girl and I counter them and actively fight them and use all the CBT and DBT techniques I've learned over the years. But it's tiring and I feel so empty and lost and hopeless. I'm trying guys, I really am. I'm trying to find happiness in the little things but I never truly feel happy - not really. Or it's so short livied that I wonder if it even really happened.

I don't know what more to do because I can't keep doing what I'm doing, not for long. I'm at the point now where I want to give up. Throw in the towel and stop fighting. This is getting to be too much. And I get to deal with it the rest of my life . . . why bother?

This is a pretty down post, I know. But this is where I'm at right now. I don't have ECT again until Nov. 6th and the earliest I could get in to see my psychiatrist is Nov. 16th . . . so I'm kind of fucked. And I'll be honest, I don't have much hope. I'm not sure I have any. But I keep pushing and I keep trying because I have my husband and son to think about. They're the only reason I'm still here.