I don’t know where my head is today*. My thoughts are racing (didn’t take ADD meds) but I feel like hell. It’s that sad-for-no-reason feeling that insults and frustrates me because it reminds me that I’m not in control. This combination of mental overdrive, feeling an overwhelming urge to do something, mounting anxiety, sadness and hopelessness confuses me. I just don’t understand what’s going on.
I’ve been doing so well lately. I only have these “blips” on occasion. But every time I fall back down, it scares me. A lot.
I’m terrified of ending up in the bottomless black hole where I spent so much time in the past. I thought I climbed out of that pit, but every so often I look down and see it yawning beneath me, ready to swallow me again if I let down my guard. Most days it’s out of sight, out of mind. Not today.
Some days are scary and sad and I’m actually feeling a lot worse than I’ll admit to anyone (so, assume understatement). These are the feelings that I completely forget when I’m up-up-up, or even just fairly level. They are meaningless outside of the moment, or so I want to believe. They’re the lurking ugly that I try so hard to hide from everyone, even myself.
There is no trigger. There is no evident reason to feel this way. I could grasp at straws and try to make some guesses as to what is contributing to it this time, but it seems futile. I feel like I’ll never understand what’s going on in my head, never be able to keep it under control, never be truly stable. Maybe that’s all true, and the very idea of it makes me want to cry.
I want so badly to be myself all the time, not just when the whimsy of my neurochemistry allows it. I don’t feel like myself when I feel like I do today. I feel like the real me inside my head got handcuffed, kicked into a corner, and the space behind my eyes is a paradoxical vacuum of hopelessness and anxiety instead. My heart aches and the lump in my throat won’t go away. It physically hurts.
I can’t hold back tears and I want to just cry myself out (but then I’d be sad and exhausted for the rest of the day.) I want to hide from everything (but wallowing makes it worse.) I want to curl up in my bed under the fluffy down duvet and sleep the day away, knowing that I might feel better when I wake again (but more likely I’d feel hazy and tired and still down from too much sleep.) I’m not going to do these things.
I’m not going to give in to depression, however temporary. To me, letting it take over is the ultimate failure on my part. After all, this too will pass. I know that. It’s the only thing that keeps panic at bay. The backhanded benefit of bipolar disorder is that neither the misery nor the mania are eternal. This is a whole lot better than the semi-permanent depression I was in for at least 5 years as a teen. But it’s just as scary.
*This was written several days before it was posted. So by the time you see this, chances are good that I’m over it and have completely brushed it off. Again.