Five days until the move. Five days. And I'm dragging my feet and throwing a tantrum inside my head. Honestly, there are some days when I see a kid in the store, down on the floor, slamming his fists on the carpet, face red and screwed up, kicking his legs, and all I want to say is: I totally get you, kid. I'd be down on the floor, too, if I didn't have to act like an adult.
About Me
- Inertia
- This is my blog. I thought about saying, "This is my bipolar blog," but I still feel like a pretender to that throne. If it is bipolar, it's Bipolar II, heavy on the depression, light on the hypomania. It also could merely be chronic major depression. As if major depression is something you could ever say "merely" about.
I went into the hospital on March 13th, 2008 for depression and suicidal ideation. It was my first hospitalization. I'm starting this blog three months later, to turn things over, report things, give them some sort of reality beyond simply being in my head. Because I don't trust my head anymore.
I'm a 32-year-old writer with one marriage behind me and the unwavering support of my boyfriend, Jb. I've struggled with this particular depressive episode since June 2007. The hospitalization was the most humbling yet freeing experience of my life. I've lost my job, my sense of security, and my sense of self. But I've gained a diagnosis, a place to begin again, and the time to do so.
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