Depression

I hate depression. I hate that when I am depressed I sleep more, want to eat more, and eat the wrong foods, and forget important things like Kindergarten Orientation for my youngest and that Friday was the fun fair at school, so I should have made my older daughter go to school instead of stay home with a mystery stomach ache. I hate that with depression comes fear, irritability, loneliness, and a plethora of other wrongs – made against myself and others.

What I have been finding about myself as I go through a depressive cycle of my bi-polar disorder is that I don’t care as much about what I put in my body, so I’ve eaten a little Debbie, and finished my kids cereal, and ate the cheese and pepperoni and crust of a piece of pizza and called it dinner. I also don’t care what I do with my body, going a whole week with only exercising once. I am also finding myself more crabby, so I am yelling more (at stupid drivers, at myself for letting the laundry get mildewy again, at my kids for leaving toys and shoes in the hallway where I step on them and trip because even though I have lost 36 lbs, I still can’t see my feet).

So I have a new psychiatrist and therapist. The shrink is awesome, spending 1 ½ hours with me drawing diagrams to show me what goes on in my brain while having an episode, either manic or depressive, letting me know that where I am at with medicine now most likely will not need to be the level I’ll be on my entire life. He’s not a drug pusher, and that I love. The therapist is the person that I saw for my psychological evaluation before I had my surgery. It’ll be a few weeks until I see her again, but I am interested in learning new ways to behave when I feel depressed. Because, basically, I hate it. And with that, I’ll leave you with a quote from Alexander and the Terrible, horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: “Some days are just like that” *sigh* Some days just are.