I’m finding it really had to blog right now. I’m tired, and my brain feels slow and stupid. Out of the blue, after three weeks of relative normality, I got captured and put in the cupboard again. It’s only been going on a week, but that week’s been a bad one. I spent Wednesday and Thursday crying and having nightmares and thoughts of harming myself. I cancelled the week’s activities, even though I’d been really looking forward to them, because I could not see how I could be around people. On Friday, I went for a walk in the park, hoping that the sunshine and a little exercise would be good for me. Instead, I was filled with despair and loneliness. All I could think was: this is my life now. This is it. Taking the meds and doing the things I am advised to do, but still going in and out of short depressions and hypomanias without any warning at all. Committing to a cup of coffee with a friend is becoming difficult, let alone anything long term, like a return to work, Christmas plans, or a holiday. I fear the possibility of never being stable again and being forever subject to the baffling vacillations of my bipolar, and right there in the park, I knew that I couldn’t bear it. And so it came to me with horrible clarity that I could not go on.
Obviously I did. This is no small part thanks to the dear friend that I contacted, who entered into a text conversation with me, exploring what I was feeling and what I was going to do next. I picked someone who I was pretty sure would understand, and who wouldn’t freak out and do anything like call the police to say that I was suicidal in a park somewhere. I also chose a person who lives a really long way away, so she wouldn’t feel under any obligation and come and find me. After a little while, I managed to leave my bench and get on public transport to do the school run (wearing massive sunglasses to hide the continual weeping).
I’ve been there before, of course. The feeling of not being able to bear life, of ending it being an absolute necessity, rather than an option – sadly, that’s nothing new. In the past, however, it’s always arisen because I am in a lengthy depressive episode that has come to feel unbearable. What seems intolerable now is the unpredictability of the mood changes, and the possibility that I might never be able to return to work and could be at home alone, all day, forever.
Each day since Friday has been a little better. Yesterday I even managed to enjoy myself, when I met the photographer again and we played around with costumes and lighting for the photo-shoot. I’m sure I’m probably on my way out of the low; by today, there is only minimal crying, some unexplained tiredness and a general sense of things being rubbish and pointless. I am grateful that I don’t actually feel that I will have to kill myself today. I wish I was grateful for a lot more, but I’m struggling to feel positive about much else.