Actually, depression might be too strong a word for it. At least, for now it's not a full depressive cycle. But I'm definitely feeling the oncomings of it. Instead its mostly a dampened mood of lack-luster thoughts, increasing disbelief and disenchantment, and a lot more bitter met with a lot less sweet.
The thing about being bipolar, but only mildly to moderately so, without real medical intervention, is that it has made me hyper-aware of my moods. And although it is often difficult to properly verbalize my sentiments, I can create extremely accurate portrayals in words.
Meditation and discipline have done wonders for my states. Though they are largely unpreventable, the ability to recognize cognitively where I am headed helps me prepare for the onslaught and whirlwind that follows. It can also turn depression into a moderate depressive mood, rather than a severe and ongoing battle of major depression.
The issue then, becomes the trade-off. Functionality in a person with any form of mental illness yields an unprecedented lack of empathy and sympathy. It doesn't interfere significantly the ability to function independently to a socially acceptable degree, and thus the ability to care stops. But the phase between functionality and the verge of losing it all, a sort of limbo if you will, is the worst place to be. No one wants to lose it all, but with the lack of support, one almost tends in that direction through a sort of self fulfilling prophecy. And thus, a person who can function, but wants to be fully better, turns to a loss of functionality to gain the social support they need to be fully better, a nearly contradictory step back in the hopes of making a step forward. Yet a person should never have to take that step back if people accepted that functionality does not yield wellness.
I'm tired. Tired of being depressed. Tired of knowing what lies ahead. And so ready to give up on trying. Even now the hues around my room that i know were once vibrant seems dull. Lime green looks like a yellow green crayon on old manilla paper. Electric purple looks like a fading neon sign. Bright blues look like the sky as dusk approaches. Music seems flat and distant. The words of eloquent song writers that once held promise seem like they hold empty promises. And yet other words are unavoidable. Certain ones seems to scream out amongst the sea of others in the background, spread together like constant onslaught of an old television's hum. Thoughts that were once invigorating seem unreachable, veiled by some unknown force.
My thoughts wander to specific events. Failure and disappointment. My thoughts wander to him. Or multiple hims. What could've been, what would've been, what is and what still could be. Every old wound reopens, like the breaking of a scab too soon. Doubts commence.
The things I was once proud of seem foreign. I no longer trust my fashion sense. The guitar sounds out of tune despite the blinking green of the tuner. The chords and rhythms don't seem to work. The words won't form. The phrases don't work. The pages of unfinished novel seem unfit. Months and years of work seem poorly written and worthless. And it feels like the one thing I thought I could always turn to is lost. Hopes and dreams seem like dreams themselves, little more than distant imagination lingering from a barely remembered dream.
And yet I still function. I get out of bed. I go to class. I take on my duties. I make myself eat and I interact, frazzled at trying to keep up, and trying to care. I write this blog post. I have to keep going. Keep moving. If i let myself stop, I can't guarantee I'll be able to do it again. Who's to say that if I let myself go for one second that I'll be able to start again. I might not get out of bed. I might not be able to feed myself. I might stare off into space, un-rattled by the world. I've been there. I don't want to go again.
But commence the depression. The foreboding almost makes it worse. Or maybe it is worse. I can never tell. Even now it's seeping through, closer and closer as I end these words. The cycle is not here yet, but I can feel it coming.
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