So it’s been about 10 months without medication. And I’ve got to be honest, despite the restlessness and boredom, I’ve done much better than I would have guessed.
I do wrestle with my moods from time to time, and some days I hear the suicidal voice try to convince me that it is too hard this time. But I ignore it. I have to ignore it. I know it’s not me.
It’s hard to say where I am really at honestly. I feel as though I am floating on the tides of my “phases.”
The last few months have been steadily more and more of a challenge. My mood seems in general to be lower. I’ve noticed distinct fluctuations in my mood. The depression returns for weeks and my general condition is malaise, apathy. Mostly down, as always, but there were a few moments or days here and there, where I felt like a new person.
When I’m up, the thoughts race, and I can no longer finish my sentences without settling myself down and making a concerted effort. Or I get so restless that I want to crawl out of my skin. The spiteful negative voice of my depression takes on manic properties and screams at me over and over again without a breath.
My “phases” kind of go like this:
When I’m happy about things, I LOVE my job. I take so much more initiative at my work. I socialize. When I get home, I have all this motivation to write a new song or start a new book idea. I practice piano. I start an art project. And my poor husband gets to hear my latest idea before I’ve even finished telling him about the latest one. This is it! This is what I was MEANT to do! I’ve got it all figured out!
Then something happens. Suddenly I don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s a struggle to work. Many hours get wasted surfing the Internet, and my projects are neglected. I’m so tired at the end of the day, that I escape to wine or smoke or video games. When I sit at the piano to write a song, my brain is a constant critic. The notes are wrong. The rhythm is wrong. I’m too sloppy. I don’t practice enough. I have no say, and I feel as though I am not in control of it.
Bipolar runs in my family, and I’m a hypochondriac, so I did some research about it. I found a couple good resources that make me think I could be Bipolar 2.
But, as I said, I am a bit of a hypochondriac. When I brought this up to my husband, he said I was over-thinking it, and that this was another phase.
I know I’m phasal. He could be right. But I can’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe I was misdiagnosed. Maybe if I was put on the right medication, I could combat this thing and GET ON WITH MY LIFE.
But do I want to go back to that world?
Therapists who impose their own subjective reality on you (how can they not, they are human after all)…Medications that cause side effects. Medications to relieve the side effects that other medications cause. Sleeplessness. Loss of appetite. Tremors. Emotional outbursts. Inability to orgasm. Weight gain.
Do I really want all that again?
I guess the real question is, which is worse: depression or medication?
Ay, there’s the rub.
I do wrestle with my moods from time to time, and some days I hear the suicidal voice try to convince me that it is too hard this time. But I ignore it. I have to ignore it. I know it’s not me.
It’s hard to say where I am really at honestly. I feel as though I am floating on the tides of my “phases.”
The last few months have been steadily more and more of a challenge. My mood seems in general to be lower. I’ve noticed distinct fluctuations in my mood. The depression returns for weeks and my general condition is malaise, apathy. Mostly down, as always, but there were a few moments or days here and there, where I felt like a new person.
When I’m up, the thoughts race, and I can no longer finish my sentences without settling myself down and making a concerted effort. Or I get so restless that I want to crawl out of my skin. The spiteful negative voice of my depression takes on manic properties and screams at me over and over again without a breath.
My “phases” kind of go like this:
When I’m happy about things, I LOVE my job. I take so much more initiative at my work. I socialize. When I get home, I have all this motivation to write a new song or start a new book idea. I practice piano. I start an art project. And my poor husband gets to hear my latest idea before I’ve even finished telling him about the latest one. This is it! This is what I was MEANT to do! I’ve got it all figured out!
Then something happens. Suddenly I don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s a struggle to work. Many hours get wasted surfing the Internet, and my projects are neglected. I’m so tired at the end of the day, that I escape to wine or smoke or video games. When I sit at the piano to write a song, my brain is a constant critic. The notes are wrong. The rhythm is wrong. I’m too sloppy. I don’t practice enough. I have no say, and I feel as though I am not in control of it.
Bipolar runs in my family, and I’m a hypochondriac, so I did some research about it. I found a couple good resources that make me think I could be Bipolar 2.
But, as I said, I am a bit of a hypochondriac. When I brought this up to my husband, he said I was over-thinking it, and that this was another phase.
I know I’m phasal. He could be right. But I can’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe I was misdiagnosed. Maybe if I was put on the right medication, I could combat this thing and GET ON WITH MY LIFE.
But do I want to go back to that world?
Therapists who impose their own subjective reality on you (how can they not, they are human after all)…Medications that cause side effects. Medications to relieve the side effects that other medications cause. Sleeplessness. Loss of appetite. Tremors. Emotional outbursts. Inability to orgasm. Weight gain.
Do I really want all that again?
I guess the real question is, which is worse: depression or medication?
Ay, there’s the rub.