The length and frequency of depressive episodes, phases, bouts. Are different for every body. And the nature and course of these episodes, phases, bouts. Change over time. (Just to keep things spicy.)
Of the 15+ years I’ve had depression, I have not experienced the quick and frequent transitions between ‘depressed’ and ‘not depressed’ states as I have over the past year or so (note: just so you know, the experience of depression is not binary, though it may seem that way to the depressed person at times):
2 weeks: OK. 4 days: not OK. in bed. SLEEP. 8 days: Great! showering. brushing teeth. hanging with friends. 2 days: Heavy limbs. heavy eyelids. heavy blinds. dark dark dark. don’t speak. SLEEP… Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Making these transitions. Adjusting to the social waking life after days of sleep in an isolated cotton sarcophagus. Up/down. Down/up. Physically/mentally/emotionally. Down/up. Down/up. Over and over again.
It’s tiring. It can be disheartening. It’s f*cking frustrating! But it’s doable. And worth it. It’s worth it to keep fighting until you get to a place where – you know you will. and believe you can – always pull through. You put that stronger-then-hope in your pocket. and you keep fighting the good fight.
A couple of my writings to illustrate these f*cking frustrating and worth it experiences.
Is this a slow slithery descent toward depression? My feeling tank an empty canister. They’re silo-ed somewhere for my feelings to feel again. Why do they play hide-and-seek with me? I want to play hide-and-seek with the world. I want to keep my mouth shut from words and smiles. When I’m like this, they don’t make sense. They’re phony and lacquered in obvious forcefulness [everyone can see]. What do we do? Among consistently consistent social beings? What do we do in times like these?
Written Wednesday, August 8th, 2012 @ Smith.
It’s a good thing that I don’t remember the feeling of waking multiple times throughout the day. To drawn blinds. Sounds of daily life outside. and sheets and clothes dampened by days of sleepy sedentary sweat.
I’m glad for walking sidewalks at night, but especially when I need sunglasses drawn to cut the sun from my daily activity. It’s me. Upright. And walking.
There are point A’s and point B’s. There are deadlines and other sides of conversations to retrieve. There are tasks to knock out or add to the list. check boxes that breath until after my wakeful mind and pen-ready hand lasso them in and grasp them by their boxy necks.
Check. Done. Check.
Written Thursday, September 13th, 2012 @ Smith.
(Edited 9.20.12 and 11.29.12.)