I’m happy to report that I have found some relief from my treatment-resistant depression, which has plagued me for decades.
This doctor told me over and over that I have a medical condition. If I truly believe this — if this becomes ingrained in my soul — I might stop beating myself up for calling out of work.
So, I find myself once again, battling the demon of depression. I’ve held it at bay for about a month now and don’t have any plans to give in, but it just lingers, waiting to swoop in and rock my world.
How can my mental health support team make it appealing for me to refrain from staying up late, eating junk food, doing some online shopping, or even crushing on an attractive, interesting new male friend?
Happiness appears to go hand-in-hand with measurable achievements, but hypomania is not earned by working hard or keeping long-term commitments.
The relaxing free time so many seek and cherish wreaks havoc in this brain of mine. No matter how many years go by, the analyzing and overthinking still set in.
I have found ways to feel productive while staying as stable as possible, which is imperative for maintaining a healthy lifestyle with bipolar disorder.
I may face obstacles along the way, but I need to understand the pathway to recovery can be bumpy at times.
Just like the scripted shows I watch, I don’t have to believe everything I hear, even though on the surface it appears to be true.