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:
The pets asked to be dressed like this, I swear.
Actually, I personally think this image looks shopped.
But the pets asked for it to be Photo Shopped. Really.
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