A friend of mine who is also disabled refers to her body as her meatsuit. Honestly, I didn't think much about the expression until I started feeling rotten. Then I found myself using it. Today, I want to trade my meatsuit in for a model that doesn't have bruised ribs, crippling anxiety, and depression.
I'm upset that this time last week I was relatively ok. Then I started having problems with my temper, which happens when I go into a mixed episode. Then I became indifferent to the whole world. I figured this meant that the 'fun' was over. My mixed episode lasted from Friday night to Monday morning. It was pretty much par for the course. Monday to Tuesday evening, I was pretty much apathetic. I wasn't depressed, just indifferent to everything. Again, I didn't think much of it. I haven't been sleeping well because I'm still recovering from having bruised ribs (which feels like it is taking FOREVER to heal) and when I don't sleep well I'm pretty apathetic towards the world.
Then Wednesday morning, I woke up feeling a little depressed. My mood just got worse as the day wore on. I was torn between the urge to go hide from everything, curl up in bed and sleep all day, and fury that this was happening again. The depression comes in waves. When I'm not feeling really depressed, I'm irritable and angry with the whole damn situation. I feel terrible about this.
I wanted to go out and do stuff this week. I have a huge bag of soda bottles that I wanted to take to the bottle redemption center up the road. I wanted to get the grocery shopping done today so that I didn't have to worry about it Saturday. And get all the sheets in the house to the laundromat and washed before the weekend hit. Now it is Thursday and I have none of those things. I still have bags of clean laundry sitting around the apartment from when I did laundry on Sunday, waiting to be folded and put away.
The only reason why this place isn't a complete disaster is because every night I have been having the kids pick up their toys before they go to bed. My issues are telling me that I'm a failure as a wife and mother. I can't seem to get enough rest when I try to sleep at night. I feel sore and uncomfortable because of my ribs and when I look in the mirror I feel like I'm fat and ugly, but in too much discomfort to really do anything about it. Because exercising with bruised ribs isn't such a good idea. I just feel rotten and like everything I do is wrong. And wondering what the point to taking these medications are.
That is when I have to remind myself that I'm on the antipsychotics so I don't start hearing voices telling me to do horrible things. And that the antidepressants are keeping the depression from being worse then the damn thing is right now. I just want my life back and I want to be able to have stuff not feel like it sucks so often. But I guess that is like wanting to own a piece of the moon. Just not going to happen unless something huge happens. Which is depressing all by itself.