Shit
I don't really want to write this. Here, or anywhere. While I feel like it will probably explain a lot, I also know it probably won't be much of a surprise to anyone.
I recently went through the worst depression of my life. Like, "How *did* Sylvia Plath's kids turn out anyway?" kind of depression. I don't know if it was because I just started birth control pills or a hormone shift from weaning, or if it was just time again. There were moments when I was too depressed to drive because the energy it took to turn on the blinker was more than I could handle.
And then, it went away. Miraculously, went away, or so I thought. The last week or so, I've felt great. I read three books, I got our budget in order, I organzied parts of the house that haven't been touched in months, I baked 6 dozen hamburger buns from scratch. And I stopped eating. I drank coffee and Mountain Dew and beer, but I wasn't really eating so much.
I was getting my life together, my brain told me. I would get every part of my life back on track and I'd do it in a week.
Yeah. So, I think we all see what's going on here, right? I never considered that I could be manic depressive, mostly because I always sleep. Sleep has never been a problem for me. But shit, as I stood in the mirror this morning and thought about it, I realized that I probably was going through a manic episode. And it's those manic episodes that have kept me from getting myself medicated all of these years, because I always considered them the "normal" me. All I have to do is get back to the "normal" me, and life would be great again.
Well, that and that I've made about 25 doctor's appointments, with the full intention of mentioning how terribly, desperately depressed I was, and then the perfectionist in my head wouldn't let me. Admit a problem? A weakness? I think not.
And so it goes. I suppose I'll get comments or e-mails about this, telling me to go to a doctor, but... But maybe I'll wait the mania out a little longer, because people: I have shit to do.
I recently went through the worst depression of my life. Like, "How *did* Sylvia Plath's kids turn out anyway?" kind of depression. I don't know if it was because I just started birth control pills or a hormone shift from weaning, or if it was just time again. There were moments when I was too depressed to drive because the energy it took to turn on the blinker was more than I could handle.
And then, it went away. Miraculously, went away, or so I thought. The last week or so, I've felt great. I read three books, I got our budget in order, I organzied parts of the house that haven't been touched in months, I baked 6 dozen hamburger buns from scratch. And I stopped eating. I drank coffee and Mountain Dew and beer, but I wasn't really eating so much.
I was getting my life together, my brain told me. I would get every part of my life back on track and I'd do it in a week.
Yeah. So, I think we all see what's going on here, right? I never considered that I could be manic depressive, mostly because I always sleep. Sleep has never been a problem for me. But shit, as I stood in the mirror this morning and thought about it, I realized that I probably was going through a manic episode. And it's those manic episodes that have kept me from getting myself medicated all of these years, because I always considered them the "normal" me. All I have to do is get back to the "normal" me, and life would be great again.
Well, that and that I've made about 25 doctor's appointments, with the full intention of mentioning how terribly, desperately depressed I was, and then the perfectionist in my head wouldn't let me. Admit a problem? A weakness? I think not.
And so it goes. I suppose I'll get comments or e-mails about this, telling me to go to a doctor, but... But maybe I'll wait the mania out a little longer, because people: I have shit to do.
6 Comments:
I think you already know what you need to do, so I won't hammer the point home. Instead, I'm just sending you huge hugs. I know just how hard it is to admit that you're not perfect. You've already done the hard part. And we love you and will be here for you through all the hard parts to follow. Hang in there, hon...
Yes, what Rebecca said.
And Yes, to what you said as well. It's scary and uncomfortable and really, really, REALLY easy to explain it all away. Plus? Mania can make some mean hamburger buns ;-)
But I won't make light of this any more than that. Do what you know you need to do. Hugs from me as well. Hangin' in there with ya, as you know so well.
Tenille, you are amazing. In so many ways. And this post just demonstrates that to me all the more.
Tenille, remember how hard it was for you to digest that I was manic depressive and not completely fabulous? Now it's the same to digest the same thing about yourself. I'm here to tell you it does NOT preclude you from being fabulous!
I'm also sending you huge hugs and can only re-iterate what the others have said. And I want you to know that you are a fabulous, funny, spirited, and amazing person too.
Help, well, it does just that - Help. Not overrated at all. It's tough and everything comes at a cost. Nothing is cheap and easy, but just realizing for yourself is such a huge leap. I'm here for whatever you need.
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