I woke up much like any other day this month. Unhappy, soul-cringingly unhappy. This is the kinda hurt you feel when that first girl you love kisses another guy after you two are over. I felt a chaffing in my mind. I felt like my fingernails were on fire. I felt like everything that could be wrong with the world, in fact, was.
So, acting in such a maniacal way, I quit my meds. “That’s that,” I thought. “Look who’s in charge!”
Then I called psych doc. Why?! Because despite what you (and least of all, not you) and I think, I really don’t want to die, not just yet. I tell the person who knows me from his office that I have decided not to take my meds anymore. I imagine her, mouth agape, before asking why and sweet talking me into an appt later in the day..
I cried some more – to my best friend in the world over the phone, in the shower, on the way to the appt, in the lobby, during the appt. I’ll tell you a truth: You never run out of tears.
More than an hour later than I had come in for an early “cancellation” visit, I am seen. Keep in mind, I have no daily meds. running on fumes and soon to be gasoline. I walk into the office and apparently has not heard of my recent chemical shifting decision. I tell him.
Then it gets real.
“I apologize in advance but I am going to cuss a lot now,” I say to the man behind the desk.
“Feel free,” he responds
I am tired of taking all these f$#cking pills, everything just gets thrown at me like I am some f*&cking guinea pig. It is not alright. I am tired of this sh*t! Who the f&@ck made up the rules on how I would manage my life?
He sat there behind his big monitor trying to figure out if there was a different anti-depressant we could try. Out of the four that a DNA test said would work best for me, two I had heard of and didn’t think much of after trying again, the other two I hadn’t tried. He selected one for me. Then when I go to pick it up the pharmacists try to tell me that the pill I am coming off of adversely affects the newer pill. How to take it made no sense, so I am waiting for my doctor to call me back.
Living with depression is like swimming tied to the belly of an orka. It can swim, but you are stuck underwater. Depression makes everything feel harder. I swear breathing even takes extra effort. This is the time of the year I become manic, chasing the wind, following the sun. I don’t usually suffer these types of days without the piercing sunlight even breaking through a crack.
But this is just part of the process. Who knows? Maybe next week I will be flying high again. Bipolar disorder IS a rollercoaster and all you can do is hang on.