This time of year is always hard.  I tend to make the house as cave-like as possible.  I don’t get dressed if we’re not leaving the house.  I don’t eat unless I have to, which of course, screws up my blood sugar.  It plummets, then soars, plummets, and soars, plummets, and soars…  It leaves me feeling weak, shaky, light-headed, and all around sh*tty.  The lack of light in the house and my unwillingness to play outside in the cold makes it very hard for me to get much-needed sunlight.  I swear, it’s like I am doing everything I can to hibernate…

          And because of all this, my depression phase of my friggin’ bi-polar is kicking my ass.  It’s like a runaway train…  The first few days I stop actively fighting and making myself eat, open the blinds, and put on a happy face, the easier it gets to not do it the next day.  I can’t stop fighting.  I can’t give in and let it run over me.  I don’t think I want to, either.  I mean, I don’t want my children to have a mental mom for real, but if they weren’t here, I think I’d have been committed a long time ago.  Giving up is enticing because it’s so much less work…  Not giving up is enticing because it means I get to be an active participant in the lives of my children.

          While that should seem like a no-contest sort of thing, it’s not that easy.  It should be, but it’s not – not because I want it that way, but because it’s a biological process I don’t have the override for.  When I am manic, it hurts not to do stupid things.  It hurts not to go out and spend money on things that are pretty, but not necessary – things we don’t have money for!  It hurts not to keep moving, keep doing, keep GOING.  When I am depressed, it hurts to do any of those things…  I actually get headaches if I leave the house when I don’t want to.  I feel sick to my stomach if I have to socialize when I don’t want to.  Giving up means I don’t have to feel any of those things and it won’t matter.  Fighting means I have to take those hurts and keep doing, or keep not doing things to make life work.  Fighting is something I have always done well with, but I tell you…  This fight is absolutely exhausting.  I can’t let up.  When I do, it sinks its claws in and just burrows in like a nasty parasite.  It doesn’t let up just because I do.  I don’t get reprieves.  It doesn’t go on sabbatical…  It’s always here…  It’s always pulling me down into an endless abyss, or up into a chemical high the likes of which I can’t even explain.  It never goes away…

          It’s time to start fighting again.  It’s got its claws back in and I am aching and straining under the weight of everything else without having to worry about collapsing from exhaustion or low blood sugar.  I have two very precious little boys that need and deserve a mommy who is all there, and right now, I’m not even close.  I won’t let us get crushed by that freight train.

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