It’s been a tough few weeks. Things are going slowly. I find it very difficult to show interest in anything, to hold a conversation, to relax. My days are devoid of enjoyment, enthusiasm. Life seems devoid of fun.
I’ve been reading back on recent posts and I realise that I was doing really well in hospital before my discharge and for a short time later. I talked optimistically about being balanced and euthymic. But I definitely don’t feel like that now.
However, I could have predicted this low mood. In hospital, I showed evidence of a mixed state, a hypomanic episode with symptoms of depression. After every hypomanic episode I have experienced, I have suffered an episode of depression. After every high comes a low. It is the cyclical nature of my bipolar disorder.
The good news is that it doesn’t last forever. I will wake up one morning and the weight will have lifted. It can be that sudden. I will have energy again. I will feel alive.
In the meantime I try to be as active as I can. I still wash and shave every day. I try to make myself presentable. I do a little exercise, listen to music and play the guitar. I meet my psychotherapist and my psychiatrist. I take my medication. I try to do the right things. And I wait patiently for my wife to return from work and the hug she will give me. I draw strength from her and recharge my soul. I couldn’t survive without her.
This week I returned to work. It wasn’t easy. I was filled with trepidation. I usually take a while to find the right gear when I return to work after a two week holiday. Imagine what it was like after eight weeks leave of absence. But I survived it. The anxiety subsided once I got started and like all jobs, it soon became like riding a bicycle. I could do it in my sleep. That’s reassuring and made me question the need for the sleepless night before going back.
Two things were apparent to me when I went back to work.
Firstly, when I was busy and concentrating on my patients, I had no time to think about myself. I had no time to think about my mood, no time to feel depressed. I think this illustrates that my depression is pretty mild compared to that suffered by many and it also shows the power of distraction. If my mind is occupied I don’t feel the effects of depression so severely. But, as soon as I finish the days work, I slump. The adrenaline has all been used up and I arrive home spent. It does give hope for the future though. Hopefully, as I get back to a regular routine at work, my mood should improve. I’ll let you know how that theory pans out.
The second thing I noticed was that I lied to everybody I met about why I had been absent from work so long. Many people welcomed me back but remarked that I had been missing for some time. To every one of them I had the same reply – I took some time off, I needed a break, I felt tired. I didn’t tell the full truth to a single person. There was no mention of bipolar disorder or depression. There was to mention of admission to hospital.
I believe in being prudent with my personal information but this form of denial of self just demonstrates the level of stigma attached to mental illness. I can write publicly about my illness from the safety of my computer but I can’t be honest with the people I work with every day. It’s hypocritical.
Having said that, depression is common and I have never heard one other member of staff, at the hospital I work in, admit to suffering from it.
Some day, admitting to depression will be the same as admitting to suffering a chest infection.
Some day, there will be no shame.
