the art of mindbending

the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2

creeper

There are few songs in the world that can explain my innate need to hide depression from people around me. I know because I looked rainit up. Maybe it’s just that I can’t think of any songs right now. Often I have no desire to listen to music when I am in this state.  All I know is the ‘song’ in my head right now is not helping me one bit and I wish I could stop this sorrow refrain.

I can tell you from my experience, the ability to keep it to myself, especially at work, takes constant vigilance and a shit ton of energy to do so. I can’t let my guard down at all for fear of the question asked by my director this AM if “I was all right”. Great, I let my guard down. It happens rarely, but I was concentrating very hard on our conversation and there it was. Something that made her stop and ask pointedly. Awesome.

i chart moods for my doctors. it helps them understand where i've been between appointments

i chart moods for my doctors. it helps them understand where i’ve been between appointments

Maybe it’s because I had a really good run being up the past few weeks that it was more of a down to know that the depression was back. I was in a panic last night and apologizing to my hubby that here I was again, the broken downer record. He supports me and kept me close, but I still feel bad that he has to experience this to some degree. I love him so much and desperately want our relationship not to be dominated by my illness. I’ve been through a marriage already where my Bipolar II was swept under the rug with “when your meds are right, it will be normal again,” mentality. That feeling just hangs on and hangs on and my IT, my critical inner voice loves to play that song over and over in my ear. If you are not at baseline or ‘up’, then you are wrong.

So I guess it’s time to ride out this rumbling storm again, hoping it isn’t long…. A poem below I wrote during one particularly long bout with the depression monster is below. ~zooey

rooted

IT grows, sprouting new leaves of misery
cultivating self-hate
wrapping tendrils between toes to trip up laughter
thickening branches with tears and rage
soul digger, gorging on sorrow
budding into a chest with heartache blooms
slithering vines up a spine coiling despair, tightly lodged in the throat
splicing words of defeat
fertilizing self-doubt

growing stronger as it feeds

creeper

rooted

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