The cycle begins.

For some of you, this is the only blog of mine that you follow. This was my first blog, and my sole purpose of writing was to let out things that have always been hard for me to let go of. I’ve noticed from day one that when I write something down it’s almost like a small weight inside of me lifts. The other reason is to hopefully find people I can identify with who are going through similar struggles with Bipolar or mental illness. So far I’ve been really disappointed at the lack of ones I have come across. If anyone is familiar with any insightful blogs I’d love if you pass them my way.

If you follow my other blog about my adventures in Australia, then you know that this is kind of my downer blog and you may not identify with anything here and move along. That’s okay. I’m not particularly fond of blogs about happiness or how beautiful each day is in its own way. I hope one day I will find meaning in those blogs…anyways, today’s post is actually not a downer. What a surprise! Anything that is related to my struggles with depression I post in this blog, and, well, this post is about new starts. Again.

I’m aware that there are always new starts, always new cycles. I just wish mine weren’t so drastic. I’d love if my ups were ups and my downs were downs and the rest be average, but with me my downs are so definitive that it breaks the cycle every time. Coming over here was always about starting over and establishing not only myself positively, but my entire life positively with my husband. I’m not expecting this overnight, and my lows these first two months of being here have been heightened due to culture shock and the longing of my family and Mexican food (seriously). But yesterday I had my second appointment with the psychologist, Dr. Phil (seriously!) and my first appointment with Dr. C, the psychiatrist.

I’m still on the fence about Dr. Phil. I usually go in with a big wall up because, well, that’s kind of what I do when anyone wants me to change. Doesn’t everyone? Usually by the middle of our session he makes me have an epiphany about what he is saying and I instantly feel better and make a plan in my head about how to tackle the upcoming week. The first week his epiphany was, “the way you’re feeling right now isn’t you; it’s the depression talking”. I kind of visualized a sad ball in my belly (when I’m mad I always call the incoming stress my anger ball, so the sad ball fits), and it makes total sense. “Normal” people have a drive to get up and go, even if they have a hard time doing so. Explaining my lack of drive, I have always said to people it’s like there’s a little guy in the back of my head saying, ‘what’s the point of getting out of bed? Nothing matters’. And I always listen to that guy. Dr. Phil’s treatment is at first simple cognitive behavioural therapy-trying to make me associate my bad thoughts with reality and understanding that thoughts are just that-thoughts.

This week he told me, “when you have a bad thought I want you to see it: ‘I’m a bad wife’, for example. Write it on a chalkboard in your head. Look at the words. Then I want you to say, “thank you brain for that thought”, and get rid of the thought”. Um…WTF Doc? If I could do that, I sure as hell wouldn’t be paying you! I mean I could say “I’m fat” and say thanks brain for that thought until I’m blue in the face…but that doesn’t mean it’s actually out of my head! Something that did resonate with me yesterday is what he said about being in this depressive rut for so long. He said, “you have been in this cocoon for so long, and the depression is actually keeping you safe. You don’t have to think about things because you’re depressed. I don’t have to get out of bed because I’m depressed. I don’t have to get a job because I’m depressed”. That makes so much sense to me. Unfortunately I’m not going to be magically cured and wake up tomorrow and go, “OKAY! I’m going to get a job! Start my diet! Go to school!”. He reminded me of what my last doctor, Dr. Julia, had told me. Small steps. Instead of sleeping twelve hours, set an alarm and commit to waking up-today. Instead of starting a diet, eat an apple instead of ice cream (okay THAT one will be hard). Take “normal” things people do every day as accomplishments for myself, like cleaning my bathroom or hanging up all my clothes. For the un-depressed eye it may sound silly, but “normal” things are huge steps for me right now.

Tomorrow I will post about the second part of my day with my new psychiatrist Dr. C. I LOVE HIM. I’d also like to end today on a really happy and uplifting note. Barb from This and That as I Bounce Thru Life is literally one of my biggest supporters. She happens to be one of the very few who have read this blog and actually gotten something out of it, which is huge to me. It’s all I really wanted to accomplish when I write here. The other day she awarded me the Content Unrelated (also one of my favourite blogs) blog award for “the underfollowed, overlooked, uncommon and underestimated blog”. She wrote:

“We've all heard the name "bi-polar" but do we really know what its like living with it?  While I am no doctor I truly believe that my son suffers from this.  He refuses to get help and our relationship is sucky right now.  Hed has given me so much insight on what she endured and still does and it's made a difference in how I view things about Mike [my son] and some other folks I know.  If you haven't read it, I implore that you do.  You won't be disappointed.”

I am extremely humbled and proud. Thanks a million, Barb.

Rinse and Repeat.

So for the past five weeks I have been keeping myself busy with my Australia blog, and even though I have had tendencies to post on here about my struggles with adapting to a completely new way of life, I have digressed, saying my sadness is related to adjusting. I don’t know if that’s 100% the case.

There have only been a couple major episodes since I’ve been here, one being about the major discomfort I feel about living with people who really don’t know me. I love my in-laws, but they don’t know me-they only know what my husband or myself says. Ask my mom, ask my husband: unless you live with someone who has a mental disorder, it’s hard to tell how bad it really gets. I’ve been on my own since I was 20. Making my own food. Sleeping in. Doing laundry when I feel like it. Watching what I want. Coming and going as I please. There was a time that I moved back in with my parents that I had to adjust, but it was minimal because a) I was working full-time, b) I was spending 75% of my time at my best friend’s house, and c) My mom understands me…for the most part.

The second episode was this last week, when my husband and I did our first full grocery shop. I had a list of maybe twenty items on it, and literally fifteen of the twenty items don’t exist in Australia. Being depressed and not having a lot to look forward to, food has been my only comfort for the longest time, and I don’t eat about 80% of the Australian “staple” foods. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I rarely gamble. I don’t cut myself or spend obscene amounts of money. I don’t do…well, anything, I guess. So when I have an opportunity to smile at writing something that makes me feel better or eating a beef dip, I relish the moment. Food is now something I fear rather than love.

I get served food now. I have never been okay with eating around strangers. I feel like they stare at me (that could be related to my weight or my anxiety…or both) and judge what I do or don’t eat. One thing I tell every human being that has ever eaten my mom’s food is whether or not it was great, you tell my mom it was GREAT-because my mom will hold that shit against you for years. So having to tell someone I don’t like something they have served me is equal to breaking up with someone or telling them something they don’t want to hear. I’m serious. It’s extremely uncomfortable for me. This last week my husband was at work and my in-laws roasted lamb. I have only tried two small bites of lamb in my whole life. I asked my mother-in-law if it would be okay if I just tried a small slice and she said no problem (she’s awesome and non-judgemental, by the way). I took a bite and held back throwing up. Not because it was bad. Not because of anything that was wrong with the food at all-I knew once I put that piece in my mouth my mother-in-law, consciously or not, was watching me to see how I liked the lamb. My brain was screaming at me IT’S LAMB IT’S LAMB IT’S LAMB IT’S LAMB and I managed to swallow it. I apologized and said, “I just don’t think I can hack lamb”. My father-in-law (who is not as awesome and non-judgemental-it’s just his way) looked at me and said, “it’s just meat”. I wish it were that simple. I couldn’t eat the rest of the night.

I used to think I was alone. Now, being so far away from…everything, I truly am alone. I tell myself I should have never married my husband. Again, not for anything he has done, it’s for the massive causality he endures regularly for being married to me. I really don’t think I will ever have kids (or I should say “raise kids”). Our life will always be atypical because of my episodes. I may be fine for five years, then one day *BAM* I’ll stop getting out of bed. It’s an unliveable life.

I’m really distraught because in my twenties, the outlook was good-I could always work at another job, move somewhere far away, start over-but now, at thirty, I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. At all. I had hoped that a new NEW! start in a new country would be the answer, but I can’t apply myself to do anything. Even if I never worked again and my husband supported us-what the hell kind of live would I live? Waking up at 4pm every day and eating macaroni and cheese for dinner? I would be my dad. I’m just like my dad. Except, unlike him, I’m aware of the path that is coming for me. I don’t know what do do about it.

It’s been 10 months since my major depressive episode has began-by far longer than any other period in my life. Just like when you’re overweight for a really long time, you have a hard time picturing yourself any other way. I don’t remember what it feels like to be happy.