Want to know what it’s like to be in a low period of depression? Not even one so low that I’m suicidal like I was last time I wrote. (Excuse the absence by the way, I had an intentional reason for not writing other than being depressed and not having anything of worth to say).
Depression is not getting out of bed since Sunday. Today is Saturday. It’s not showering or brushing your lower back-length hair for so long that it takes 10 minutes and a prayer to Venus to get the mats out. Seriously. 10 minutes and a brush of broken hair. It’s only getting out of bed when your husband gets home so you can pretend you’ve been up and reading all day in order to hide the fact you’ve slept for 3 days. It’s not sleeping at night at all but for the muscle relaxers I’m prescribed for sleep and my back. It’s having fear of driving at night now. Or driving during the day alone really, unless I have to because I’m scared someone will hit me. It’s so desperately wanting to reach out to my tribe of friends but fearing they’ve forgotten or don’t love me anymore. It’s not doing the things I love like photography or crafting unless my darling step daughter asks me to do it for her. It’s only playing video games for my stepson because he wants to and because I adore him and want him happy. It’s putting on a face all weekend I have them so they know how much I love them and want them to know you can be mentally ill and still survive. It’s being so numb that I can’t even cry anymore. It’s not eating anything but mini blueberry and apple pies all week so that I lose 5 pounds.
This is a normal week for me. But I press on. Because what else can I do. I want to live. I DO have people who love me (somehow) and I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t want my step kids to have to lose a parent figure they’ve known since they can really remember. I will not do that to them. I will not leave my husband like that.
This is my bipolar depression.