Reflections on my mood
It’s been some time since I’ve written about my mood. I guess that’s mostly because it’s been fairly stable for awhile. Up even, at times.
For the last several weeks* I’ve felt dread deep in the pit of my stomach. It’s a black, empty, never-ending universe of nothingness. It affects my ability to smile. It deadens the melody of my voice. It is heavy, flimsy and extremely awkward.
This is completely messy, no-words-for, dark, angry, perplexing, “don’t-bother-me”, fascinating, lonely, “I-need-you”, sticky, wild business. All that and ALL THAT.
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When I had my first major mental health crisis, I recall having such a desperate and heavy feeling about everything. This is not quite the same intensity-wise, but it still sucks. At that time, I remember being so fucking horribly ashamed. And angry. Jeez I was angry; mostly at “the system”, but also at my family for being upset with me (yeah, I chose to become anorexic and self harm, right?!).
Feeling depressed as I am is also most unwelcomed. I have a deep urge to hate it, to get angry at it and to want to extract it like a rotten tooth.
And yet this pit – this darkness – it’s necessary. It is part of my life. I will always have bipolar disorder. I will always be tempted by the excitement of the highs and need to pull away from the tug of the lows.
And so I keep learning. And keep figuring out how to help myself. Don’t get me wrong, I have hope. I know I can manage.
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(*This post has been in my draft folder since the end of August. Because, well, I’ve been depressed.)