I’ve struggled with major depression for quite sometime and the only thing I can say about it when people ask is that it is a “dark” place–a black hole that just sucks you in no matter how you fight. There is no other way to describe it other that describing it metaphorically. Facing people is a struggle. Taking a bath is a struggle. Waking up is a struggle. Eating is a struggle. Being “functional” is a struggle. Your body doesn’t just fail psychologically but it manifests physically. You can’t feel hunger or thirst, but at the same time feel so much. When you see people go through their everyday with a breeze, you wonder why you can’t do the same with yours no matter how you try. Living with depression is a slow painful death one experiences. It almost seems hopeless to the point that the “end” is the better solution. You suddenly question God and the universe. Faking about it for years doesn’t help, it just worsens the situation so I try to embrace the fact that, yes I do suffer with it, though it is not an excuse I make for people to see my deficits in how I function through life. It is a fact I should accept if I want to get at least better.
Struggling with Bipolar is tough, especially if your doctor tells you that he isn’t still sure and you are still under observation. There are the swings of extreme highs and lows. The swings are a relief to me now. It brings me hope. There are positives and negatives to it. The positive side is that I can be extremely productive. The negative end is the “rage” I experience can bring me and people around me to harm. Both bring me to depression after. Breakdowns are a regular cycle as if the abnormal is the normal. There is no in-between. I remember being told about my condition alone with my Psychiatrist and it took sometime before the words sank in. Additional medication. I was breaking down while driving. Just when I was knowing and accepting depression, bipolar arrives. It makes you question yourself, who you are and if you even know yourself. It was another struggle with a different name. I drove to the closest person I trust dearly (thank you Dan Tiburcio) because I knew I needed an anchor to remind me of who I WAS. Being under medication for 6 months now under 6 types of anti-psychotic drugs, I somehow reach the point of “normalization”.
I am writing this because I want people to know that these are things people struggle with. Sometimes these people are closer to home than you expect. Denying the help and saying the words “get over it” or “be positive” doesn’t help. It just makes the situation worse. Be with them. Hold their hand. Do not let go of the other end of the rope even when it is tough. Trust in them when they do not trust themselves. Love them when they don’t love themselves back–and even when they have pulled themselves backwards. I know it is tough but be with them until they find their way back. It is a maze of breakdowns and treatments, of hopelessness and hope.
I’d like to think that I am writing this because I am “me” now. I can’t imagine how eloquent I sound like when I talk about my life for the past few years. I want to remind myself that despite the “terminologies” the “medication”, the “treatments”, LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. I want to read this over and over again when I am least myself. LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. MY LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL.