SNAP OUT OF IT ! ! ! (yeah, right . . .)

I did not begin this new blog in order to be a hit-or-miss writer, certainly not one who disappears. So what happened? Or more precisely: what happens to me? Where do I disappear to? Short answer: my bed. Long answer: keep reading.

First of all, I need to vent a bit, regarding the 'advice' of my title (which I don't endorse, by the way . . . at least not in the way it's usually meant). I HATE when people who do not really understand or personally suffer from an honest-to-goodness chemical depression (not just a bad day, PMS, or 'the blues') offer that gem. It's even worse/harder to hear (& 'snap out of') when the depression is chronic and part of the roller coaster that is manic-depression, as is my case -- not being a victim, I swear . . . just the facts, y'all. I'm sorry if anyone reading is one of those folks, and I know the intention is usually good. But the thing is, that advice is highly unrealistic. If we could, doesn't it make sense that we would? Like, in a second???


Well, I would, but past experience (going back twenty years now) and all the research I've done on my bipolar disorder, and depression in general, tells me that's just not gonna happen.


Having said all that . . . sometimes something will happen that does kind of snap you out of your state of the living dead . . . not enough to actually pull you out of the black hole you've fallen into, but enough to bring you to some awareness of how truly paralyzed you've been. The brain starts to slowly creak back to life (having thoughts other than the utterly morose and morbid thoughts it's been hyper-focused on). (how long was I gone? how long has it been since I was in any way functional? when was the last time I called a friend, or even returned a friend's worried call? do I still have friends? when was the last time I showered?! why do my eyes always hurt, and how is it possible that they can still produce so many tears after all the crying jags? . . . ). Something happens that is at least enough to make you realize that it's that time again . . . time to reach out for help . . . again. (why is it so easy to forget to do that? well, I guess the paralysis doesn't help much . . .). That reaching out, though . . . that in and of itself is enough to clear your head just enough to feel again, to feel something besides pain . . . something perhaps akin to hope.

So there you go. That's where I've been. This was a particularly deep, particularly dark black hole. Inky, moonless-night-starless-sky black. I'm doing my best to climb out of it (wish it would tone my thighs too! oh, well . . . one thing at a time, right?) I have been down here before, and although I do my best to keep from coming back, I know that realistically I'll be back again. I need to find ways to keep myself from going so dark and deep. I need to remember the reaching out part sooner.

I DON'T want this to be me life. I don't want it to define me, and yet I have to find a way to work around real limitations without letting them become full-on incapacitations. I hate the way this thing has stolen chunks of my life, even though I now know that it's a real disease I didn't ask for. I am going to try to stop regretting and beating myself up, and I am going to do my damndest to make the most of my future. ( I'm astonished that I just referred to my 'future' as if it's a given . . . big step considering where I've been . . . now that gives me hope!)