In my next life, I would like to be a cat. Hear me out, because I have spent a lot of time thinking about it and even more time with field studies. Outside of the fact that cats lick their butts, they have THE life. They have no responsibility, none, zilg! They are slave owners (yup! Humans =slaves) that feed them, pet them and clean up their mess. They sleep all day, chase their shadows and when they want an enjoyable time they, at random , kick themselves in the head (at least my girl cat does this and I always remind her that her feet are connected to her body and that her growling at her own feet defeats the purpose… she eventually gives up the fight and walks away from herself). If they decide that they want to be sweet and loving, they rub up against their humans. If, five seconds later, they change their mind, they have every right to hiss, spit, and claw that same unsuspecting human. Who wouldn’t want to have their life?
I bring up cats because they get to sleep all day, and right now, I would really like to be sleeping all day. There is this little cloak of darkness called depression (a mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency and dejection, typically also with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, often accompanied by lack of energy and disturbance of appetite and sleep.) that likes to fuck me up every few months.
Like a blind pimple, it starts out small and unsuspecting and then as time passing it gets a bit bigger and it becomes a nuisance, but you can’t do much about it. You try this and that to make it go away, but there is nothing that you can do. So, you take your family member’s advice and you let it alone and see if it goes away, but when they are not looking you poke at it because who wants a fucking pimple on their face? I certainly do not! I have this whole thing with popping pimples… perhaps it’s an obsession, I am not sure… it has yet to come up in therapy, I guess I should add it to the list of things to talk about. I wonder if one of the 14,000 medications I am on will assist with the delight that I experience when I get to pop a pimple…. And did you know that there are videos on the internet with people who pop pimples for a living. I mean, come on, dream job alert!! When I have my next mental break down/mid life crisis, I think I know what field I am going to go into, hands down! But back to depression, sorry, got a little distracted there. Pimples get me excited!
That’s how depression is, it sneaks up on you. It’s nothing and then bam, you can’t get out of bed in the morning, or like the pimple analogy, you have nothing, then a blind pimple then this massive white head that is just screaming out to people “POP me!”
At this very moment, I am again struggling with depression. Two weeks ago, I was manic and was so hyped up I thought about signing up to run in a marathon and listen, I don’t run, even if someone was chasing me, I would be like “dude, I give up, can we walk and talk?”. It’s amazing that in such a short amount of time, I can go from one extreme to the other, but that is the reality of being bipolar.
Currently, all I can think about is crawling into my bed and pulling my covers over my head. My eyes are burning, my head is pounding. My arms feel heavy and weak. There is this weird, dull vibrating sensation that is running up and down my legs. I have no appetite and food feels bland. If grey had a taste I would say that my food tastes grey.
But here’s the problem. I still have a job. I still need to go to work every day and fulfill my daily job responsibilities. I am still a spouse. I still need to fulfill my responsibilities to my partner. I am a stepmom. I still need to be present, alert, engaging, caring, loving and encouraging to my children. I am no Cinderella, so please do not get that perception. I am not on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors while my ugly step sisters are getting ready for the ball and the fat cat, Lucifer, is prancing around in the dust pan dirt messing up the floors I just cleaned. But, I do work hard to be there for my family and I put forth as much effort as I can to be a studious employee.
And the hard part about all of that, is every ounce of me wants to a cat, to be able to sleep all day, to have no responsibility, to be able to be in my bed and hide under my covers and just can wait for this depression to pass. But silly me, that is unrealistic, and just not plausible. Plus, I am not flexible enough to lick my butt so that would be an issue, and plus I really don’t WANT to lick my butt, I prefer my nice soft, slightly moistened wipies, no doubt, but hell, cats really have the life!
However, each day I get up, I get myself out the door, I make it to work, I come home, I make my family dinner (usually from scratch) and I spend time with them, and I am also a college student, so there’s schoolwork to complete. I press on, because I have no other choice.
I was raised in a Christian household. I was baptized as a baby in a Catholic church, and again by submersion (by choice) when I was thirteen in a Southern Baptist church. A Bible verse that got me through my teen years that included battles with anorexia, bulimia, depression, anxiety and suicide was Philippians 3:14 (NIV) “I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” I no longer know how I feel about God, Jesus and I know I am no longer a fan of the Church, but I do know that every day, every hour, every minute, I tell myself to press on. And I know that this stems from this verse that my mom gave me. I remember sitting in the receiving area of the eating disorder ward in 2001. I was in a ribbed turtle neck, a denim skirt, tights, my favorite lace up brown boots and I had just been weighed and the scale had registered a whopping 88 pounds, my lowest to date. This was my second, or was it my third, I honestly can’t remember, trip to the ward. I was sitting in a hard chair (all chairs were hard because I had no fluff on my bum) waiting for the staff to come and retrieve me and take me back through the double doors to the ward. I was waiting for when I would have to say goodbye to my mom, not knowing when I would see her again. I recall that she handed me a sheet a paper that was covered in her handwriting. When I read the paper, I found many Bible verses on the sheet. The sheet was broken into categories, like verses for strength, encouragement, etc.… The Philippians verse was one of the two that were on that sheet I ended up memorizing, and I have such a horrible memory, that I am never able to memorize anything, so it’s pretty remarkable that I was able to remember the two I did and still can remember them to date. The doctors said that they were not sure why my heart didn’t stop. Something about my blood pressure being so low in combination with my weight and some other things, you know doctor stuff, consequences of eating disorders, small stuff, right? But I guess it just wasn’t my time, nor was it my time after that, or a few times later in my life when I pulled a few other of my antics. Or perhaps, it was because I just kept pressing on.
Depression is a fucking bitch! Really not sure else what to say about it that would sum it up in a better way. Wouldn’t wish it on my worse enemy (and that’s saying a lot). Speaking on behalf of those that suffer from depression, I would ask that you be patient with those that you know who are suffering. Most times we are not depressed about something, or someone. It’s just our brain, it’s the way it works, or the way it doesn’t work, or how it works in a unique way. When something up there gets out of sorts, depression is the outcome of equation. Talk to us! Talking helps. Know you can’t fix it, so don’t try. You are only going to get frustrated with yourself and with us. Listen to us and just love us. We spend all day being locked in our brains. We feel shame and guilt for our mental illness and what it does and how it affects those that we care about. Encourage us to keep pressing on, every day, every minute, every second.
And if you find out a way for us to transform into cats that wouldn’t require us to lick our butts, do let us know!
#bipolar #depression #anxiety #anorexia #suicide #presson #Philippians314 #stepmom #spouse #partner #cat