This (as always) is so tough to admit.
Depression touched me again. It is no respecter of occasion or holiday. It is always the pink elephant in My room, My mind, My life. It is something, because I have bipolar disorder, I will always have to keep in check.
I had a bout of depression over the Thanksgiving holiday. It wasn’t the worst. I had no suicidal thoughts this time.
But it wasn’t the best. I don’t know why it hit me when I was surrounded by people who loved me.
For those who were there and didn't notice anything, don't worry. For better or worse (usually worse) I put on a "happy" poker face no matter how I feel. For those who were there, and did notice something was up, this was it.
Maybe it’s because we finally weaned me off of antidepressants, so I can be treated solely by mood stabilizers on a daily basis.
Maybe it’s because, even though I LOVE my family, and I LOVE a good party, I’m still an introvert who needs to take a break from the action in order to recharge. And in all the action, I failed to take such a break until it was too late.
Maybe it’s because my two kids only wanted MOMMY, even though there were 4 grandparents, 1 aunt, 2 brothers-in-law, 1 uncle, 3 cousins, and a host of other in-laws and friends who would’ve happily relieved me of my kids for an hour or two.
I was fine Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday it crept up on me. By Friday I broke down, in private with my husband.
Because part of me is still ashamed of my condition. And even though I try so hard, I still am reluctant to show my true face to my loved ones, even though I know they want to know, and they want to help.
I loved my Thanksgiving holiday. But I didn’t love this.
Also, I realize the dearth of pictures with snarky comments in my last few posts. So sheerly for your pleasure, I present this: