I feel the pain roll in like I’m being buried alive in the pain and I start to cry.
February 12, 2021
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, I spent the day in bed. That hasn’t happened in months. I couldn’t stop crying. I’d cry and then sleep. I’d wake and then cry. There is no explanation for this when it happens. It hasn’t happened in a while. But here I am, back in the ugly again.
There is no clear reason, no external cause. The pain is real and physical and visceral. I feel intense pain, in my chest and throughout my body. I stand and I ache. I sit and I ache. I search and search for a solution for some bit of reprieve from the ache. I take Tylenol but Tylenol doesn’t fix the thing that’s happening in my head that makes my body hurt.
I wonder if I had a job if I’d be able to go to work when this happens; and the answer is no. I can’t imagine how I was able to push through when I was working. Then I remembered I didn’t have these episodes when I was working. Is it because I was working that I didn’t have these episodes? Or am I not working because I have these episodes?
The last serious career position I had I simply crumbled under the weight of it. Then I tried again, four times, with the same result. I was sick, but not so sick, and mostly functional. Then I was really sick, all of a sudden really sick, and suddenly no longer functional. How can bipolar take over your life overnight?
When the crushing sad hits, I sit in front of my laptop, watching Netflix in an attempt to transport. Sometimes it works if it’s a really engrossing show. But then the show ends, and I look around and I see where I am, and I feel the pain roll in like I’m being buried alive in the pain and I start to cry.
My mother looks at me, alarmed, and asks, “What’s wrong? Who are you talking to? Did someone hurt you? What happened?”
You’d think she’d remember, after knowing me so long and knowing how I act when I’m depressed. You think she’d just remember. But she doesn’t. Maybe she forgets because the behavior is so abnormal for a normal person. Every time this happens, she forgets I’m not a normal person. I don’t know why.
I respond, “Nothing. I’m just sad.”
Then she goes on watching her Hallmark movies. And I go on sitting in front of my laptop crying for no discernable reason. Oh my God, I’m such an incredible drag. Who would tolerate this? Who would understand this? Who would want this in their life?
Today I woke up and I wasn’t crying, and my chest wasn’t tight, and my body didn’t hurt, and I realized I was through it. This time, I’m through it. This time, this particular episode has passed.
How long will this respite last?