My last post was clearly not written by someone who is a role model for the upside of mental health. But maybe it's good that I put it out there. This survival thing, this getting through bad days, weeks, months maybe that's the real point. Staying alive when the world seems bright and cheery and you feel happy and content, well that's easy isn't it? That's the fun part. Not taking refuge in thoughts of razor blades and punching out your time-clock permanently when everything is bleak and you're lonely and feel abandoned and ugly and useless and so damned sad that nothing matters, that's the hard part.
The other hard part is recognizing when it's a matter of chemistry.
I feel lucky to have gotten a hold on my recent downward spiral towards the comfy black snugglies of a deep depression by increasing my medication slightly. I hesitate to say that I'm 100% okay just yet, but things are infinitely better than they were. It astounds me how easily I started slipping down that slope to the slough of despond, and how even seeing it happening I felt helpless to stop it even though I knew I could certainly TRY a little more medication. It's really like an angel and devil on your shoulders. The angel says: hey, how about we've been here before and we try a little tweaking of the meds before deciding to off ourselves, eh? And the devil says: Fuck it all. You suck and you always have, always will and you may as well spare yourself more of the same.
It's a lot easier to listen to the second guy. After all, he's a snappier dresser.
But I did start taking more meds, it has started to help and I'm going to be far more vigilant that this doesn't happen again in the future. It's hard though, I mean it's hard to recognize it when it first starts. Is it just a 'bad day' or is it the start of a tumultuous war of self-loathing vs. rational thought? Sometimes it's just impossible to tell.
And to those who offered some support - I do appreciate it.