Slightly better times are here, but not in permanent way. I am still experiencing a tremendous amount of hopelessness, suicidality, despair, depression, overwhelming sadness, non-stop crying spells, mind-blowing anxiety. What I have now that is different, is each day I can sometimes find a little pocket of time that is not destroyed or taken over by the monsters in my mind.
If I am really careful, I can stretch that little pocket of time upwards of an hour before the lows inside of my head start to drag me back down. The past week, I have been able to get lost in some jewelry projects, good quality time with LarBear, entertaining online chats, Kizzie snuggles, and some magic in the kitchen.
Now that I have these pockets of positive time, it almost make things worse. It’s like a tease — oh, here, you can feel semi-decent for an hour, but then it will be snatched right out of our hands and you will be back to fearing your own shadow and crying off all the makeup you so carefully applied and choking back sobs until you feel like you could vomit.
So I have my hour here and there, and I force myself to do things, creative things, hands-on things, fun things, in those short stretches of time. Because they aren’t long pockets of time, the don’t always come everyday, and I may jump back and forth out of a “good pocket” several times in the course of one day.
I am lacking in the area of my brain where hope is created, and really do feel like this is probably going last half past forever. Or really, that it will change, but only change inasmuch that it will be just a different version of Hell. So, I posted the HOPE sign at the top, because that’s what I’m clinging on to with my shredded fingernails.
Pain ends, pain ends, pain ends. I repeat it to myself over and over. I don’t buy in, I don’t believe it, but I repeat, repeat, repeat. Because deep down inside, there is hope that things will be better, and that itty bitty, tiny shred of REAL hope is all I have to hang on to, as far as thinking my mental health will some day ever be in “recovery” or “remission.”
Because really, I just don’t believe it. I don’t think “recovery” or “remission” can be applied words to what is happening to my brain, and I’ve never been able to understand the use of those words on this particular disease.
RosieSmrtiePants 
Your description sounds like my memories of climbing out of the black tunnel I was in after my cancer surgery 5 years ago. It was so black down there, I thought I’d never see light again. I buried myself inside the computer in my office. I couldn’t talk to anyone, not even Garry and I didn’t want to burden him, so I just stayed in that room for almost a year. Yet, it got lighter. Very slowly. One day, I felt better enough to come out to the living room for a while and then, one day, I realized I was actually feeling better. It’s not that I have been back to that pit, but I have never stayed there as long … and I know the route out. When you climb out once, you know you can do it again. It’s not much, but it’s something to cling to. Keep on keeping on.
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I wish I knew what to say, Rosa. I could remind you that it’s always passed before, but you know that. Keep the faith and the hope. Hey, you’ll be able to read my posts again now that I’m back. (See how quickly I made it all about me?) We’re routing for you.
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Rapid cycling, ultra rapid cycling ultradian cycling–hijos de putas–all of them! If you were here right now I’d shower, smell and look presentable, and drive you downtown Toronto to get some chocolate caliente and churros at a very cool place called Kensington Market. Strongs, my friend. I’m happy that you have “pockets of positive time”. That is a very good sign. Some people don’t even have that.
I rapidly cycled my way from hypomania to crashing into a vat of molasses. It’s low and slow over at my casa. It’s a very lonely space to be in, but like you I’m grabbing hold of any shimmery moment the day offers me.
Abrazos
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Rosa, the phrase that comes to mind is “Depression is a liar.” It is so all-encompassing that we can’t see our way out of it or believe that we will ever be free of it. But there ARE times when it lifts and things are ok and we can function in the world. Sometimes those times are an hour at a time, sometimes they are weeks or months. But the pain, it’s not forever. I know it feels like it. I can relate 1000% to what you are going through, you’ve read my blog enough to see that I think.
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This too shall pass. You know that sweetie. We live through the rough times and then we enjoy the good times. You’ll get there again, we both know you will. Hang on. I love you. ❤
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Sending you a hug, dear Rose. You are brave and strong and a hugely talented writer.
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Sounds like ultradian cycling to me Rosie, and I so get it because I suffer from that mostly. When I just do rapid cycling (which is still exhausting) I feel a reprieve. The problem with being support systems for each other is that we can all relate, and as such, our positive comments meant to be uplifting are usually something like, “Yeah. I don’t think there’s such a thing as remission either.” This email has been in my inbox for a few days. I’ve been slow getting back to my online friends because my own depression has me down and mostly sleeping all the time. But I hope by the time you read this, you’re having your one hour of happy, creative time. I wish you only the most joyful hours when the depression lets you go.
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Aw Rosie, I’m so sorry.
Are you still seeing like a professional right now too? Like someone to speak to about these feelings?
I really hope you get better soon.
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