I have been depressed two solid days. Today and yesterday, especially today, I have been impulsive and selfish. I’m trying to *not* be like this, but the chemicals take over. There are a million chores for me to do throughout the house, but be sure I didn’t do any of them. I didn’t even hide my purchases. That’s how bad it is.
I took a public health class on disability once. There was a girl there who claimed to have manic-depression and said she enjoyed her depressions. I think she is either a liar or not really depressed or she is crazy. What’s to like about depression? The world feels like a cement wall, you’re out of control and nobody is there for you. (The latter is true even if people are helping you and loving you: You don’t appreciate or enjoy it and you almost always want more. You’ll suck the life out of people and wonder why they won’t return your calls.)
Things like the whole birthday issues flood your mind. Your brain takes a foot hold and there is little joy in your life. Nothing long term matters. Spend up, eat up, blow your savings and your diet. So what if you’re saving for a dog or have lost fifty pounds? It doesn’t make any difference.
I consider this moderate depression. My life is bad, I execute it poorly and I’m not suicidal.
I want to go to the hospital because there are nice people there, no laundry to fold and I am safe from distraction or demanding people. I have a whole team of professionals taking care of you. Sure, they dope you up and that’s no fun, but it’s a break from the world. I wanted one last summer and went to stay with my dad for a few days. It was nice, we went to a fancy steak house and had a lot of fun. I planned on repeating it this year but he wouldn’t have me. He said I needed to stay with my husband and daughter. I’m melodramatic, but I say that decision may have cost me my life.