By normal I, of course, mean completely bonkers. But in a good, manageable way…ish.
I realised yesterday that despite my painful ankle (damaged 6 weeks ago by too vigorous dancing at church; we’re Baptist, what more can I say?!), I’m actually doing OK.
That might not sound like earth shattering news to those of you blessed with “normal” mental health but it was a real revelation to me!
I’d forgotten how debilitating depression was. For the past 3 years I’ve only had to battle the day-to-day mood swings of bpd and those are easier to solve. They’re situational; fix the situation, fix the mood.
What threw me with this clinical depression was the fact that the situation was fine. I was happy with my life; unfortunately, my brain hadn’t got the message!
I wanted to be happy. I wanted to get on with writing and life, but there was this emotional distance from pretty much everything. An apathy towards being buggered to do anything. I found myself watching hours and hours of telly…during the day!
Yesterday I gave my house a thorough clean. I emptied out piles of my mini-hoards under the bed and re-arranged a few bits. Suddenly, I realised that I could be buggered again.
Whether I get very far with writing book 3 today remains to be seen…but the willingness to try has returned.
This has been quite rambling, I know, and I don’t know if there’s a point or moral. If there is, I guess it’s this: Antidepressants do exactly what they say they do. Don’t be scared to use them.