You’d think that bad weeks would push me to write- to channel my too-full brain into words on a page. But no, bad weeks leave me unable to open my laptop and string words into sentences that express how I feel. Describing my symptoms feels repetitive, like I have nothing new to say. And maybe after four years of severe depression, I don’t. This is a symptom; I don’t want to write, and I don’t want to think.
Lately, I’ve been feeling suicidal, almost like how I felt before my hospitalization. After weeks of bad days, I finally had a good day. I got things done, I said “yes” to invitations out, and I had a microscopic feeling of hope. Then, like I knew it would, it ended. I woke up with the same depression I had two days before.
It’s taken me two weeks to write this much. It’s only 300 words, but I have to come back again and again to chip away at it. I feel disorganized in my thoughts, and if I had the spark to edit this, I would. I haven’t posted in a while because I feel the need to end each post on as hopeful a note as possible, and I don’t think I can muster that right now. Is it better to say nothing in order to preserve a positive message, or abandon optimism to illustrate real life with depression? I’ll strike it somewhere in the middle.
Sometimes you have bad weeks, and sometimes there are many, one after another. I’ve been told, and have experienced in the past, that if you keep going, good days will fall into place. At first, they’re few and far between, but then they start multiplying. I’m not there yet. I don’t see many good days, and I feel far from optimism. But it’s possible that I’ll get there.
Update: It took me so long to finish this post that I’m now feeling better enough to continue blogging. However, I thought it important to post this anyway.