Some Seriously Depressing Stuff

I have been yearning to write during the past couple of months but my brain forbade me. With everything going on in the world right now, politics, hate, the death of my best friend-my father, and seeing so much distress in others lives, I couldn’t put to words how I was feeling.

I was feeling like a shipwreck on an unknown island. I had to figure out a new way to live and come to terms with some hard losses. I’m still working on it. Grief is like a leach slowly sucking and draining my emotions. It’s always there reminding me. The smallest things set me off. I can’t focus. I sleep for 18 hours a day if I’m not working. If I am working I cry on and off for 8 hours straight before I get done. Then I go back to sleep.

I snap, I go crazy like a loose wire breaking it a windstorm. The electricity in my brain gives me a new surge of energy. I turn into a suicidal Harly Quinn with a smile on my face I will laugh as I tell my poor husband how I plan to inhale cloramines until I get to see my dad again. I’ll laugh through tears stumbling around trying to find something, anything to take away the pain and fear that grips me.

Hard Grief plus Bipolar Depression plus COVID 19 equals the worst possible combination of death eaters I’ve had the displeasure of knowing. There is only a handful of reasons to live and an ocean of reasons to die. Do I like those odds? Nope. I don’t think there is much I can do about it. I’m doing all that I can. I’m getting out, spending time with my Mom and Husband (my two biggest reasons to stay alive), I’m (trying) to keep going to work even when I can’t breath because the anxiety closes the chest in pain, I’m taking my pills, I’m talking to my doctors, I’m meditating, I’m eating healthy, I cut out pop, I’m exercising more. I’m doing it all right. Pain wins in the end.

I’ve started to discuss, much to my husband regret the possibility of Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). Over the years I’ve changed drugs so many times they are running out of things to prescribe. Perhaps rewriting my brain will be my only hope at getting ride of this dreadful disease. It’s a last resort, I know. But, I’m sick this same rotation. I should not have to find myself in this place over and over again. It has hurt relationships, jobs, and life. There has to be a solution.

I know there is more to life than this. I’m not meant to live my life crying underneath the blankets. I’ve seen good and I know it’s out there. I just wish my brain didn’t want me dead.

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