This is cut for length and whinging.
Edit: Quick update. I’m with the crisis team, grudgingly.
Very depressed at the moment, and it is notably worse than any other (mostly medication-caused, as antipsychotics always kept me on the lower-end of depression, but I am not taking any medication at the moment) depressions of the past two years. It is, I guess, the giant fall down the hole after the few months of almost-entirely high mood and energy. This has been very sudden and is completely kicking my ass. Nothing happened, as usual. This time of year is always treacherous, and I don’t know why. I am extremely tired, extremely sad and will be AWOL for a while as I don’t think this is going anywhere. I can barely raise my head and I don’t think I really want to be alive anymore. I don’t know how to get out of this or what to and the world seems black to me right now. I am trying to function, and it’s very difficult to. The things I love doing in myself- going walking, writing, taking photos, playing with my cats- are gone. Words are gone, passions are gone, my confidence is utterly gone. I am doing Robert’s head in and that is upsetting me. I wish I lived in a bubble where my moods didn’t affect the people who loved me (and I do not deny this. I know there are people who love me, Robert, Stephen, my family, even if my mum still hasn’t bothered contacting me to say happy birthday). I can see how frustrating it is for him because nothing makes a difference to my mood, I feel the same, I would probably feel the same if I won the lottery, or if I were hit by an earthquake. I love him, I tell him so, even if my ability to express it is dented. But I do not want to put another person through this. It isn’t fair. I feel like a liability. So for the most part I have stitched my mouth shut. These are my problems, nobody elses’. But I feel like a total failure. Like I have let everybody down. I just want to sleep all day. And knock my head through a pane of glass for being so fucking whiny!
(Edit: Oh, LOL as the kids say. I had to take some photos of myself for One in Four. Y’know the type, the obnoxious “look at me, I’m a writer” type of photo. I’m just going through them. They all look like this. How happy I am).
A part of me is not sure I am going to get through this, a very large part of me does not mind that prospect. I am trying my best but I feel quite helpless here. I don’t know what to do. I’m distracting myself, sleeping probably more than I should be and getting into the sun and trying to take care of myself (although I realise I am not drinking enough, and stupidly it takes me a long time to even go to the bathroom because the energy required seems huge) but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t go and see a doctor because there is no help available there, and I quite honestly don’t feel like talking about to my social worker because there is nothing left to say, and there is nothing left to do. I’ve done therapy and although I found CBT for body issues helpful, I know my thought processes are not the problem because I interrupt them on my own. DBT is also not helpful because I don’t have the problems it’s there to address and do a fair bit of the things it teaches anyway. That in itself makes me feel bad. It is not as easy as just pulling my socks up and going for a walk. I will fill in my personal budget form (a begging, arselicking statement as to why I need money to fund a part time course, that’s up there with the DLA form in being horrifying and abjectly depressing to fill out, on your “worst days”, and how friendless you are) in the hope that it can help give me a future but right now I would be happy to just sleep for the rest of the century. I’ll stay alive so that the dickhead taking bets on me killing myself this year will lose his money.
I’ve made most of my recent posts private as I feel pretty ashamed of myself for this mood and don’t feel like discussing it. It is indulgent and self pitying. There is nothing to say I haven’t already said before. This blog has just become an anti-CV. I was never blogging for a blog deal, or for hits, and I kind of despise the whole action of doing so. But it’s still here and I don’t want people’s opinions of me to be so coloured by it that they don’t know how to speak to me or are afraid of doing so. That I am a writer and my main online writing is, “Fuck, I feel like shit, I am failing at everything I do” is frankly becoming humiliating. I’m genuinely worried about people treating me as incapable as I feel because I need them not to do that to me, to not avoid me (although I am avoiding everybody and have succeeding in almost totally isolating myself) or mollycoddle me. If you are my friend and you like me, please include me. If you ever believed in me, please keep believing in me. I don’t believe in myself anymore and I need you to.
I’ll be off for a while because this blog and writing it is making me feel worse at the moment. Please please do not take this opportunity to send me an email telling me that I am slave to the DSM-IV, for a psych victim, or that I could get better if I ate more apples. I will end you.
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder