My Bipolar depression forgot to do the laundry. And the dishes. And the cat litter. And the recycling. Again. Meanwhile, overanxious thoughts remind me to not starve the dog, to shower so I don’t repel others, and to basically get my ass out of bed. Let me welcome you into my neurotically depressed existence.
First I’ll start off by saying that this depressive bout has been going on for almost two months. I know I’ve written about it a little bit in past posts, and last week I finally talked to my psychiatrist. He prescribed me a healthy dose of happy in the form of a beige pill. Antidepressants. His directions were to start by taking half a tablet as to not induce a state of mania. Yeah right. No mania here. Not a chance.
The thing that got me is while I knew I really did need something, I also had the urge to pretend everything was fine. Like I didn’t need more drugs and I didn’t need to schedule another visit in such a near future. Why do we do that? Deny ourselves the truth of our disorder? Like every time we get assigned a new prescription, we’ve failed in our behavior somehow. Whether it’s rational or not, we still toy around with these notions.
So far, I’ve been taking my antidepressants for a week and I don’t feel any difference in my deflated mood. No cheer. No miracle. But no mania either so I suppose there is a bright side. Ironically, I have a degree in this subject so I know it can take 2-3 weeks to begin working. It’s difficult to apply these things to myself sometimes.
I’m just trying to get through each day and trying to have faith that this medication will help. I admit it is tough to keep track of so many pills and adding this one didn’t exactly lighten the load. I also know that is part of the deal sometimes. Until next time, I want to send well wishes to anyone out there currently dragging through some type of depression.