Down

Let me try to bring you into my world.

I feel the depression every day.  It dulls the way I feel.  It dulls the way I view people.  There's a certain frustration there. I used to be able to get sucked into a book or a film.  Escapism is great.  When you can escape.  When it doesn't tire you out to read a chapter.  I rarely sit down with a book these days. And film?  I remember what it was like after I did my Masters degree and I was constantly aware of my context within the viewers' experience.  Yeah, that's a bit wanky.  It's a hi falutin way of saying, I couldn't lose myself in the film.  Well, that's now too.

When I get up in the morning, I can be ready to meet the day.  I get up and feed the cats. And then I check with myself what I want for breakfast.  It can be, let's have the full breakfast or as close as your fridge can take us.  It can be, I guess it's toast and tea.  This gives me a hint.

But it's the loo of doom that decides things.  The lethargy hits there. The hopelessness.  The feeling of trudging through treacle or sand, or both. Sometimes I can fight it. Sometimes I can push through it.  Just not all of the time. If I go back down stairs I nod like my dad does when he fights a nap in front of afternoon quiz shows.  If I can push through the screaming in my head, I can get washed. On some days.

Today wasn't one of those days.  Today wasn't what they call in the mental health field a good 'self care' day.  I have taken my tablets.  I haven't got washed or dressed. I haven't brushed my teeth.  I've eaten a tin of soup at lunchtime (3pm) and I've ordered a pizza for the first time in weeks. I went back to bed at about 10.30am having fought myself for a good two hours. I slept for 4 hours ish, ate that soup and went back to bed, for another 4 hours.  And before you say, oh, you won't sleep tonight.  I believe you'll find that I can.  I can tell when I'm coming back up when I have a restless night and can't sleep.

So, getting things done on days when I can push through is important.  My dishes are washed.  My clothes are washed.  Things are just about clean enough.  If I have a day like this, I can catch up.  If I have a number of days like this, things go to pot. Even when I'm pulling my way out of a down, it just feels like too much to cope with.  My washing up in the kitchen becomes my kitchen monster.  I race through electricity when I have to do three weeks of washing at once. My bank account goes down when I have to get food delivered, as my agoraphobia also waves hello when I'm in a down.

Incidentally, the bi polar disorder affects your cognition too.  I have more difficulties than normal in finding words to express myself. Many of my friends smile with me when I say 'Hang on I'll get there eventually' while I dig for the appropriate word.  And it can be the most innocuous word going.  I might forget a friend's name.  I might forget your name. Or a landmark.  The word thingy comes up a great deal.  Not great for a woman whose livelihoood used to hang on her ability to express herself.  Not good at all.

So, people are right when they tell me that the loo of doom is a passing thing. It should be.  I should be able to say, give yourself 10 minutes, Jan and check in with what you feel then.  Or an hour.  But by that point, it's likely I'm asleep and there's 4 hours gone.

What can you do, but write a blog about it?