Navigating the Expanse of Mental Illness...

Depression has been part of my life for about 20 years, but there are some aspects of it that I never grow accustomed to.  Most of the time I have been a pretty high-functioning person with depression, meaning that I did well in school, worked, got along socially as well as possible, etc.  For most of my life my depression didn't lay me low - until I got to college.  I had completed my first year of community college achieving a 4.0 GPA both semesters, but at the start of the second year I lost my drive.  I dropped out of school before the end of September.  I wasn't accustomed to "quitting" anything I started, so it was difficult to give myself a mental break and be okay with the fact that I needed a break.

I transferred to a state college and loved living in a new town and attending classes at a college that was the perfect size and setting for me.  My excitement and pleasure with the education I was getting was not enough to push the depression away for long, and soon I was attending counseling and a few months after that I was on fluoxetine (generic Prozac).  That year was difficult for many reasons, but the added fact that I could never seem to rest only worsened every aspect of my illness.  For the first time in my life I began missing a large number of classes.  This was so difficult for me, because in so many ways I felt that my education and my love of the academic atmosphere was the only thing that kept me going.  Yet, I couldn't get to classes because sleep was erratic and social interaction proved to be excruciatingly painful for me.   I was hard on myself for not showing up, which did nothing but exacerbate the depressive symptoms, further limiting the quality of sleep and rest I was getting. 

When I attempted suicide in 2004, it was partly due to the depression and the bleakness I experienced daily.  But it was mostly due to the deep longing I had to just simply sleep.  I wanted to sleep forever, so to speak.  I was so exhausted.  It's nothing I can explain.  It's a tiredness of the soul, of the body and of the spirit.  I could never rest peacefully and I never felt rested.  I also was constantly on edge from the little noises, events and daily aspects of life.  Without appropriate rest, life becomes unmanageable very quickly.  Sleep has continued to be impossible for me to completely manage, but I'm learning to accept the unmanageability and do as much as possible when I'm awake and then allow myself to sleep as I can.  Sometimes that means a four hour nap in the afternoon, or a period of no rest that stretches past 40 hours.  It's still tough to deal with, but I'm leaning to "go with the flow". 

I left my job almost two years ago to focus on the issues that have plagued me for years.  In that time my diagnosis changed from clinical depression to bipolar disorder, as well as the conditions of social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, complex PTSD and obsessive compulsive personality.  In some ways I've hated the labels of these various illnesses, yet at the same time I appreciate them because they give me some peace in knowing that this is beyond simple effort and trying to be okay.  It's an illness that is partly under my control, but mostly impossible to figure out.  I can do my part and go to therapy and support groups and take my medications as directed and see my physician, but there is a part of the illness that is in and of itself and is beyond what I can control. 

In small ways I try to recognize what I can control and what I can't.  It's very hard for me to let myself off the hook and put the blame on the illness.  I want to be accountable for the poor decisions I make, or the choices that affect me and my life.  It's a balance I constantly struggle to maintain. 

It's been very stressful to not work.  I feel that I don't contribute enough to the family.  The days when the illness lays me low and I have no motivation leave me feeling worthless and empty.  Sometimes a sink full of dishes is insurmountable.  Who can't do a simple sink of dishes???  I don't like to complain about my illnesses, because in all honesty, the gifts that have come of being depressed/bipolar are great and I am grateful for them.  

But sometimes it's damn hard.  

The never knowing when the next low (or high) will hit is frustrating.  The lack of energy and motivation is crippling.  The effect that the meds have on my creativity and my ability to find the words I want is enough to, at times, make me reconsider whether I want the meds at all.  The need to get blood work routinely to make sure the meds aren't harming my liver or other organs is anxiety provoking.  The dizziness and nausea that I get when I miss a dose is scary. The hopelessness and dread is paralyzing.  The side effects of the meds which include shakiness, twitching, lack of focus, and on and on are annoying.  It never gets easier to deal with the ups and downs.  It's just a matter of being able to manage it all differently.

I have new coping skills that I use, but sometimes I revert to older, less healthy coping methods.  Like in any recovery, sometimes there is relapse and setbacks.  It's all about getting back up in the saddle and trying again.  Some days I feel that it is pointless and I don't want to even try.  But the next day a little hope shines through and I do what I have to do.  

My life will probably never be completely free of depression or bipolar disorder, but I can be free of the hold it has had on me by doing what I can to make the episodes shorter, less traumatic, and ensure they make as minimal impact on my life as possible.  It's come down to realizing what I can control, and surrendering the rest.  That's where the real struggle is.