This Bipolar Life: The Tears

The soul-crushing loneliness of depression fights me at every turn. I sit here and cry. Just cry. So many reasons and none at all – all at once. There is no one thing that I can pin down to fix this. The tears just fall.

All the while in my head I’m making plans for my next project or activity. I can plan for the future, even knowing there’s a chance I may not be a part of it. But I line up all my ducks in a row, because I fully intend to do everything possible to be here for it.

But the tears still fall.

It took me until nearly noon to get out of bed this morning and face my life. That’s what this is like.

And the tears still fall.

I’m finally showering today after three days in a row without one. That is what this is like.

The tears remain unstoppable.

I see the sunlight. The glint of dew on the grass. I wish I wanted to go outside and enjoy it. But I don’t. I don’t want to. Not just that but anything. I don’t want to do anything. Hell, I don’t want to be sometimes. That’s what this is like.

All the while the tears stream down my face

The fears and regrets around the errors I’ve made during my hypomania surround me, swirling like a tornado. I can barely see beyond them.

The tears continue to fall.

Some excitement at seeing my children’s spring musical they’ve been working on bubbles up but it’s just enough to piss me off because I can see the positivity it represents and can’t hold on to the feeling.

I feel it wash away as the tears still fall.

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