I talked with my dr and he said there is nothing in my medicines or withdrawal off antidepressants that would cause this depression or crying.
“I’m not diminishing your pain,” he said, “but often you have a hard time coping”.
Normally I would have been insulted or felt unheard, but I had already thought of something close to that myself.
Could these tears be grief?
Maybe I just need to cry it all out like I’ve done before.
When I was little I cried for weeks when we moved, when friends moved. Cried for two weeks when I had to put down my dogs, my daughter moved to Wisconsin, my mom died, etc.
Most recently my divorce, the other woman, ostracized by my sister and kept from my grandchildren.
Maybe what I am misinterpreting as depression is actually grief . Maybe this is the way other people handle their emotional pain and I used to because I recognized the event.
So I’m giving it a go. I’ll be crying my eyes out and not questioning it. Sounds like utter hell, I’ll just release the sadness and cry until the tears stop.
I’ve had a small glass of wine. I’m resisting the urge to write.
I have Ultra Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not sure if there is “2” “II” behind it or not for this glamorous sounding disease.
Now, and for the last five days, I’ve taken a dive into the abyss of depression. No, I’m calling it a fall into the abyss of depression, that sounds less deliberate, because I certainly have no control over it.
If you know anything about or suffer from a mood disorder and read my last post, I think it is obvious that I had begun falling in a dramatic way.
I’m much more aware and less likely to fight against admitting defeat these days, so I call my Dr. and get in right away. There is always a lot of crying on my part and a lot of rifling through my three maybe four-inch-thick file folder on his part. I think I’ll mention to him next time – it’s time for a binder.
He looks, he thinks, I cry, I tell him what I think is wrong
and he comes up with yet another plan.
I’ve been cycling again, but not at all in a fun way, I’m not getting the pleasant phase. The productive, “Aren’t I amazing? “ and “I love me!” phase. All depressed and irritability. More like angry and pissed off. Either sobbing or berating myself as pathetic. Raw exposed nerves, don’t even talk to me and definitely don’t touch me! I want to be hit by a truck and throw things that aren’t cooperating. I’m not eating either. I cannot even enjoy the lack of appetite and therefore lack of calories because it is a danger sign that I’m getting closer to the edge.
No one knows I’m felling this way because I have way too
many responsibilities and way too high standards for myself to drop the mask I
have perfected over a lifetime.
So about now you might be thinking, where is all this going?
She has definitely not been able to resist the urge to write.
I was resisting the urge to write because I had a small glass of wine. I know I am not supposed to drink because of my condition, but when I feel this depressed it is the only relief I get until the medicine starts to work. Luckily, I metabolize medicine very quickly. That is also a plus for the very small amount of wine I need. I have been known, a year or so ago and before, to drink a lot every night. And now I don’t.
Writing my thoughts and feelings in a blog about being diagnosed with such a stigmatized illness was a great outlet for me. I couldn’t tell anyone I knew because of the shame I felt. It took me months before I told my husband. Drinking was the only way to feel anything. The medicine was levelling me out but there was nothing left. Being buzzed wasn’t the same, but at least I didn’t feel dead.
So what’s next for me? Drink and then write again? Today, and with the way I’m feeling, the buzz feels a tiny bit good and writing this feels good. It feels real. It makes me feel like me. The real me that I love. If other people felt this way about me I know they would love me too.
Have you ever been so sad that you can’t move? Feeling so depressed and rejected that even moving your face to cry is impossible? Tears just roll down your cheeks? Chest unable to heave?
The feeling of unimportance finally proven to be true? That all along fighting the thoughts of being unlovable were in vain?
All of those coping skills learned, all of the meds, all of the triumphs to succeed in life against incredible odds fail?
The betrayal so overwhelming and complete that your broken heart can’t move you?
The only way to tell these feelings is in a blog, because telling anyone else just makes you look more pathetic than you already feel?
This is the place I usually insert the last line of hope or whit not to worry anyone that I might finally crack.
This morning sitting comatose on my couch for the first time in my life might just be a step closer.
I was feeling pretty strong against the ex-husband and his girlfriend yesterday morning.
He is trying to pass her off as his roommate. No one knows what I know about how they were sleeping together a full 6 months before I asked for the divorce. Even the children seem to have been fooled. I can’t say anything to anyone because when it is all said and done I’m taking the high road as usual (not willingly believe me). I Looking back at how outrageously (even for him) his behavior was during that time I believe I was manipulated (AGAIN) into asking for the divorce.
So I checked Facebook to see if I was truly able to handle it.
He was on her page with a selfie of themselves. Under the comments was a comment from my mother in law saying “Just a couple of kids!”
I was so angry, hurt and other things I can’t even name that I went into a horrible spiral of depression and anxiety. It was a pretty dark day.
I got up this morning and felt much better. I tested the memory of yesterday to see if they still held their sting and they did. Good news for me is not as painful. Then it dawned on me that checking Facebook was in essence breaking the No Contact rule! That is the real key to recovery and now I have to start all over again! I had 4 whole weeks under my belt.
I’ve been doing EMDR for a whole host of things in the last few months. When this woman moved into my old house with him I had to see my therapist twice a week for two weeks. I have sooooo much more work to do.
I hate him. I hate them. I haven’t really been able to enjoy any of my freedom from him because he’s still getting to me but on a higher and different level. When will this get better? When can I finally feel better?
Its just like you when you try every trick in the book to lose weight and it always comes back to diet and exercise. Time heals all wounds.
Blocking all of them and taking the Facebook app of my phone is a good measure as well.
Beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long coming, it is the stronger when comes, and the longer kept. Abused patience turns to fury.
I’ve never given much thought to the stereotypical “woman scorned”. I feel it now.
Granted I’ve always been emotional, but I haven’t reached this level since my teens. You know, teenage broken heart, writing poetry etc.
When I told my dad and my sister that John ,was cheating on me, I asked that neither of them say they weren’t surprised. They didn’t, but Ellen did say “your marriage was always bad anyway”. That is the same as she “wasn’t surprised”, therefore I shouldn’t be as upset as I am.
When you are betrayed by your brain all your life, everything surprises you. I hung on to him all these 27 years because I thought I loved him. I did love him. I do love him. It doesn’t matter how wrong it is, I do.
God I hate him.
I do believe myself when I say I won’t go back to him.
To be able to give him the adoration his narcissistic ego needs to survive, this woman is either as needy as he is or as broken as I was.
anincidentallife.com 
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