Filler 2: Depression/Bipolar Disorder
Confession time! October-December are the worst months of the year for me, so this post is heavily filled with how am I doing right now. Please don't be concerned, it's always better in the springtime!
Hello again, now it's filler number 2: a blog post on my depression and mental health issues!
If I were to explain my depression, it'll be a loooooong, long wall of text, and, tl;dr--I don't think I will write down all of the problems in my teenage years that pointing towards depression, and in turn, bipolar disorder. Okay, from this point onward, I'm going to call bipolar disorder as only bipolar.
As I said in my post before, my depression started to really showing up when I got a year off time after finishing high school. It was pretty bad, my living schedule went tits up, my mom and dad are distracted with moving into a new house, and I got fatigue from hell every. fucking. day. I remember I had a panic attack from thinking too much of what was really happening to my brain, is it just simply a depression case, clear and dry, or is it anything more--something so serious like bipolar?
In any case, me wanting to go to a psychiatrist finally went answered by mom, and I got checked by Dr. Wiharto. He said that I got bipolar, and he gave me depakote, for my mood swings; an anti-depressants; and an anti-suicidal. The only thing I still take after six months is my depakote, with anti-depressant worsening my fatigue, and anti-suicidal stopped my fast-paced thinking almost altogether. It wasn't a fault on my dr.'s side, my brain is just that annoying. Depakote alone was taken regularly by me for around one and a half year. Maybe two years--I forget nonsensical things with all the stuffs I need to remember now.
But YEAH!
I took these meds, scared as all hell with my brain and body, the diagnosis that was unsurprising and yet still make me so scared and questioning. I never made peace with my disorder, I didn't seem like someone who need the help of medicine to just go to sleep and wake up normally. I never been the type to be silent and broody and in-drawn, if anything I'm the loudest person in the room. But on the quietest nights and sunniest morning, I can't help but to think, "Am I really have a disorder? A bipolar disorder? Am I just lying to myself? Am I only playing with my brain chemistry? Is the depakote I ate are only sugar pills?"
Up until now, I sometime miss my pills, the easy sleep they brought on the latest day I took depakote, and the remainder that, yes, you will be better after this. But still I choose to let my body meds-less, going blind and crushing any obstacle I see in my way. It's just too much, the circling thought of is it real or is it not, the circulatory of my doctor and my schedule and the drug I need to take. Better be away off the meds, if only my weekend is free of trying to get my pills and meeting my doctor.
This whole post is posted in english, not (only) because I'm a pretentious little shit, but also because talking about my depression is always easier in english. I have been dissociate my disorder from my whole life, and it roots itself into my other life, in english, easily.
Thank you for reading, if you did, and cheers, mate!
(I am open to talk about these stuffs, just so you know. It's... valid, that you are feeling like getting killed again and again just because you are alive and breathing.)
Hello again, now it's filler number 2: a blog post on my depression and mental health issues!
If I were to explain my depression, it'll be a loooooong, long wall of text, and, tl;dr--I don't think I will write down all of the problems in my teenage years that pointing towards depression, and in turn, bipolar disorder. Okay, from this point onward, I'm going to call bipolar disorder as only bipolar.
As I said in my post before, my depression started to really showing up when I got a year off time after finishing high school. It was pretty bad, my living schedule went tits up, my mom and dad are distracted with moving into a new house, and I got fatigue from hell every. fucking. day. I remember I had a panic attack from thinking too much of what was really happening to my brain, is it just simply a depression case, clear and dry, or is it anything more--something so serious like bipolar?
In any case, me wanting to go to a psychiatrist finally went answered by mom, and I got checked by Dr. Wiharto. He said that I got bipolar, and he gave me depakote, for my mood swings; an anti-depressants; and an anti-suicidal. The only thing I still take after six months is my depakote, with anti-depressant worsening my fatigue, and anti-suicidal stopped my fast-paced thinking almost altogether. It wasn't a fault on my dr.'s side, my brain is just that annoying. Depakote alone was taken regularly by me for around one and a half year. Maybe two years--I forget nonsensical things with all the stuffs I need to remember now.
But YEAH!
I took these meds, scared as all hell with my brain and body, the diagnosis that was unsurprising and yet still make me so scared and questioning. I never made peace with my disorder, I didn't seem like someone who need the help of medicine to just go to sleep and wake up normally. I never been the type to be silent and broody and in-drawn, if anything I'm the loudest person in the room. But on the quietest nights and sunniest morning, I can't help but to think, "Am I really have a disorder? A bipolar disorder? Am I just lying to myself? Am I only playing with my brain chemistry? Is the depakote I ate are only sugar pills?"
Up until now, I sometime miss my pills, the easy sleep they brought on the latest day I took depakote, and the remainder that, yes, you will be better after this. But still I choose to let my body meds-less, going blind and crushing any obstacle I see in my way. It's just too much, the circling thought of is it real or is it not, the circulatory of my doctor and my schedule and the drug I need to take. Better be away off the meds, if only my weekend is free of trying to get my pills and meeting my doctor.
This whole post is posted in english, not (only) because I'm a pretentious little shit, but also because talking about my depression is always easier in english. I have been dissociate my disorder from my whole life, and it roots itself into my other life, in english, easily.
Thank you for reading, if you did, and cheers, mate!
(I am open to talk about these stuffs, just so you know. It's... valid, that you are feeling like getting killed again and again just because you are alive and breathing.)
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