The false veil of this depression is lifting. I’m feeling quite well today! Got my son’s room ready for his arrival tomorrow. Some xmas decorations up- just enough for it to feel festive. No tree. But it’s more than “good enough” as the veil lifts from this major depressive episode.
Hope to talk more tomorrow about what worked this time. But in a nutshell, I surrendered. Didn’t fight the depression, tried to stay out of shame, practiced “good enough”, and probably most helpful began blogging again.
A very good hearted, well meaning friend, messaged me tonight to see if I’d be at a social gathering this evening. I responded honestly that no, I would not be going because I am going through a depressive episode and am laying low, taking care of myself.
Her well meant response was “get out of that funk please!”
My job is to clear misunderstanding when the opportunity arises, so I responded “It’s not a funk. Life is great. It is just part of having bipolar.”
So how does one distinguish a “funk” from clinical depression? In my opinion, a funk can be a black cloud of sadness brought on by an outside source -a break-up, financial troubles, work stress. Where as sometimes depression is brought in by outside circumstances, but not always. As I stated before, I am perfectly happy with my life as it is now, yet at this moment in time am experiencing depression.
So I went to google for a definition of a “funk” vs depression and this was the best explanation I could find:
Am I in a Funk?
I’m having a tough time managing my bipolar symptoms lately. I went through a tough spot in August when I tried a med change and ended up burning my boob (a good story for another time).
This time I felt I was rapid cycling for a couple weeks, and now have hit that deep depression dip. I so desperately want to control this teeter totter; sit right in the middle keeping it perfectly balanced. But right now there’s a 500 pound weight of chemicals, a bag of wires missing from my brain which are causing a severe dip down which I cannot control.
I have spent the past two days (while not working and sleeping) binge-watching Bloodlines, an intriguing family drama/suspense series which has done serious damage to my waistline. I initially guffawed at the media attention correlating binge TV watching to binge-eating, but my personal, non-mindful experiment has found it to be correct.
Time’s online magazine published an article yesterday, “This is What Binge Eating Does to Your Health”, describing a recent study that states the more you sit in front of the television, the higher your risk of diabetes. The article merely states that it is the act of being sedentary that causes the risk, not even addressing behaviors one partakes in while watching television.
I had a junk food binge last night that would make a six-year-old left alone with an Easter basket this Sunday marvel. I’m not going to go entirely into it, but it spun me out into a “sweets” shame spiral. A study out of UT-Austin connected binge-watching to not only binge-eating and binge-drinking, but depression and loneliness.
I can honestly say binging on Bloodlines was not done out of depression or loneliness, but because I found it to be a kick-ass thriller. And thank goodness I have solid recovery, because the amount of tequila drunk in this series would cause Don Jose Antonio de Cuervo (Jose Cuervo ) to worship the porcelain gods. For me, it was the suspense, and my natural proclivity towards sweets, that caused the binging. Why would I take time to prepare and eat a healthy meal when I NEED to know what Danny is going to do next, and I bought snacks for my son’s first visit this weekend?
As they say in recovery, everything in moderation. So now that I’ve finished the series, I’ll kill off some calories by making this place teenager friendly for the weekend. Oh, and I’m sure shopping for those snack replacements will kill some calories too.
I can’t lie. Some days suck. I’d like to say every day sober is wonderful. That my bi-polar is amazingly managed through meds, therapy and meditation. But life is life, and some days bite your ass like a rabid badly-trained pitbull. This past 24 hours has absolutely sucked.
My son lives with his father an hour and a half away. It sucks. I usually can look on the bright side but he is miserable in his current school. I spoke with him on the phone yesterday after which I wanted to swoop in on my invisible jet and Wonder Woman whisk him away. But I can’t.
Instead I started bawling on the phone and had to cut our conversation short. See, my pharmacy majorly fucked up and I was without three of my medications from Wednesday until today. My emotional fuse is very, very short. I bawled for hours last night feeling entirely powerless in solving my fifteen-year-old’s problems.
And then there was today. I go to my place of mental health care, to see my social worker, then therapist, and yell at the pharmacy peeps, and I walk in to see my ex. This is the troll I lived with for three years, until he hawked my flat-screen T.V., Iphone, my beloved purple Kitchen-Aide Mixer, and every thing else I had of value while I was in treatment. Somehow I kept my fuse from igniting.
I now have all my meds, and a new 24 hours begins. Some days suck. I breathe deep, breath out, and remember I’m blessed to be alive. And if that doesn’t work I imagine myself seeing the ex, then Wonder Woman scissor kicking him simultaneously in the face and balls with those big red boots. That image usually makes me feel better as well.