Faded. Tired. Uninspired.

I’m in hiding.

I can’t put my finger on it. What the hell is going on with me? I feel like I’m doing laps around it. Hotter, colder, colder, hotter. No matter how hard I search, I cannot get a grasp on the object of my torment.

This has rendered me useless. Depression, as it deepens, always has a way of crippling me and all of my abilities. But, there’s more to it than just depression. There always is. I feel it, aching in my bones, coursing through my veins as molasses.

I suppose I have gone on about depression in posts prior. But, I’d like to take some time to describe the state, and then dissect the function, or lack thereof.

It’s like being fatigued, without being physically tired or exhausted. My mind is exhausted, easily overwhelmed by the overbearing world. Too bright, too loud, too – everything. It’s too much. That’s the spark for panic. I’ll come back to this.

I don’t feel like I’m here. It’s like walking in a dream state sometimes. Things are blurred around the edges, and no matter how hard I squint, it doesn’t get any clearer. Some things cannot register when I attempt to remember them. I saw it vividly, and I can almost get it. Almost.

Almost there, but not even close.

My mind cannot draw a straight line between two ideas. Everything doesn’t fragment, as much as the ties that bind loosen. Nothing sticks, I’m teflon. It all slides away into this black abyss I’m constantly staring into.

How far down do you think it is?

Even when I am able to hold something as my own, I choke on my words. I am drowning on dry land. I sputter, but it refuses to come out.

This dreadful shadow looms over me, blocking out any sunlight. No matter where I move in my attempts to come into the sun, I cannot outsmart it. I cannot evade it, and we remain bound.

Me and my shadow.

It stands, judging me. My judgment day, yesterday, today, tomorrow, and who can know how many days I will be followed by the watchful eyes? All I see are these dark, glaring eyes from far above, peering down at me. I swallow, but a lump has grown, making each gulp like choking down broken glass.

The Panic.

Vacuums the air right from my lung, harder than getting the wind knocked out of you. And I gasp for it, like I were attempting to breathe through a straw, filtered on the tip with cheese cloth. The air is thin and scarce. Drowning, on dry land.

My nerve endings are so frayed that they are deadened, save for a few sparks that set little fires about this paper house. Paper. It could come apart at any moment. A little wetness will dissolved the whole damn thing. A good gust will blow it over. And if anyone were to come after me, they could shred it, and simply grab me up by my collar to drag me away. I’m not even sure I have the fight in me to make one last stand.

Because gravity is holding harder than usual. Everything is heavier. I am being pulled closer, and closer to the earth. And when I fall, it will swallow me up, and I will be no longer.

I press on.

But, it watches me. It invokes a gripping fear that puts the vices on my heart. If I speak, it squeezes harder. It pushes me further. I witness the world move around me, and I beg so much to be apart of it. No matter where I am, or who I am, or what I am doing, I will always only get as close as brushing the fringes with my fingertips.

. . .

Singular thoughts, even just notions, are enough to whisper me into hiding. Four concrete walls. Buried fifteen feet into myself. Radio silence.

What is there to say anyway?

I’m faded through and through. My words, my ideas, flimsy and translucent. The focus blurs, and the letters just mesh into ink blobs.

And things start falling apart.

23 thoughts on “Faded. Tired. Uninspired.

    • I had not read that letter before you linked it. I think it’s lovely and eloquent. Thank you for directing me there. And thank you for being kind to me. Your support matters.

      I once said to a friend, of course in bad taste, “You know what the best part of having bipolar disorder is? The fact that I know for certain that things will change. That’s the nature of this illness!”

      Truly, in bad taste, I know. But, there is a lot of truth in that. I do know it’s going to change. I believe that is possibly the only reason why I don’t feel an anchor pulling me completely under. In the past, as these depressive episodes would set in, and seem to embed themselves into my every moment of my waking life, I would find myself in a place of extreme despair. The idea of going on another day with that was unbearable.

      *Knock on wood*

      I try to follow my own wisdom, but it’s hard to see the forest from the trees. I have a hard time drawing the line between indulging my episodes and being a friend to myself. Where does a friend draw the line at enabling the other?

      • You ask the tough questions, Lulu…
        Is it so bad though to indulge a depressive episode? I think there’s a fine line between letting it pass and feeding it. But to me, it seems that embracing its reality is the healthy thing to do, as it will not move faster than it needs to…

        • I’ve never been one of those people who considers myself the exception, you know? The reality of it, I believe, is to listen to the subtle needs being expressed. I was telling my husband last night, “It’s not that I’m sad, or anything. This isn’t your gloom, doom, and despair kind of depression. It’s something different. Something that washes the colors out and makes me feel particularly sensitive and vulnerable. Everything is meh. And I wish I could find something that gives me some kind of joy again, instead of feeling like everything is this laborious task.”.

          What to do? All I can think of is to pull back a little, and intentionally do things that I enjoy.

  1. You describe it so well – fatigued without being physically tired or really exhausted. Weary.

    Hold on. We’re rooting for you.

    • Thanks. So tired. Every part of my being feels over exerted and exhausted. I don’t know why. One could make the argument that I don’t do enough in the day to claim such fatigue. I’m glad they aren’t. But, why is my brain so very tired?

    • In asking why I can understand and connect to depression, yet not conquer it is like asking why is the sky blue? Sure, there is a scientific answer. But, that doesn’t mean that we have the knowledge or power to change the sky to yellow or orange.

      But, the very problem is the nature of the causation of bipolar depression. We don’t have a definitive one yet. We are incapable of scientifically tackling it through “cure”. The best we can do is treat it through the means we have and those that we are developing.

      How do I cope? With the singular thought that this isn’t my forever. I was going to mention that the speed of living always slows, screeching.

      I am currently living moment to moment, quite literally. Sometimes, one moment has nothing to do with the other, with the exception that it follows some chronological, rather than logical, sequence. To live in the moment – no today, yesterday, tomorrow, nothing but right now is to live microscopically.

      I don’t believe that there is anything wrong with living in the smaller picture sometimes. In fact, sometimes it is preferable, in that one is afforded the sight and patience for fine detail. But, with the demanding pace of the world surrounding me, I am always at the mercy of the pulse of society.

      Moments are longer than we think they are. Seriously, sit down and set a timer to two minutes. Start counting with the timer as you hide it. In all likelihood, you will reach 120 before it does. So, right now, I am living in the nanoseconds, filling out those cracks of time.

      And those are just a few ways that I can cope with depression. Yes, it is difficult to see the world speed past me, and at moments, I wonder how I will catch up, if I ever will be able to. But, that’s okay. Does a turtle get frustrated because he is slow? Certainly not! Though he is slow, he has a sturdy home with a protective shell.

      That is me right now. Sturdy home I can retreat into for safety. It works well.

  2. Remember these words.

    I’m OK. God doesn’t make junk.

    We all know that when we’re in the pit – it seems as if it will last forever and we’ll never feel well again. But those of us that have been on this path for many years, know that this will pass.

    Hang on to God’s Hand.

    • That is beautiful. God doesn’t make junk. I believe something like that, but it’s more like, “Nothing is really junk.” It’s my attempt at “green” ventures.

      I hang onto that very last thread sometimes, repeating over and over, my mantra, “This is not forever.” Nothing is forever. For better and for worse.

      Thank you.

  3. Hi Lulu.

    I am so very sorry that you are experiencing all this t this time. But I find hope in my knowledge and experience of you thus far and in that I truly believe even this you will turn into a positive somewhere down the line for someone.

    Kind Regards.


    • I hope that I can make all of this something positive and beautiful for someone else. I know that when I look back, I see another fixture on the giant structure that is me. It is gorgeous and ornate. And upon gazing at it, I feel something similar to what I feel when I look upon a great pyramid. I know great suffering and sacrifice went into it. And somehow, there is this tragic beauty mixed with pride.

      I am grateful to have you lend your strength and wisdom in a difficult time. Thank you so much. I cannot express my gratitude for such a blessing.

  4. I feel for you. I saw that you follow my blog so I decided to check yours out and nominate you for the Liebster Blog award. I really understand where you are coming from and you have described how I’ve felt so often so clearly.

  5. Hi Lulu,

    As a member of the Mental Health Writers’ Guild you have probably already received notification of the creation of ‘the Warrior Child Award’ and so may already have some Idea what I am talking about when I tell you that I really am so very pleased to be able to award you this award.

    You work inspires me.in so many ways and I can think of no better recipient of this award. You can find out more about it here: http://mentalhealthwritersguild.wordpress.com/the-warrior-child-award/

    Kind Regards,


  6. I don’t enjoy the thought of you struggling with depression, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you sharing your thoughts. Your writing helps me gain a better understanding of how Depression feels. While it may not bring you comfort or answers, I think it goes a long way toward allowing others to empathize with you and others who may battle with this as well.


    • Even while inside it, I can appreciate it’s dark beauty. I am better acquainted with depression than I am with hypomania. So, this is familiar territory, and yet, it still feels different every time. I suppose it is supposed to.

      I appreciate you took the time to share your appreciation. I have always said that if I have eased another person’s pain or made them feel less alone, then this is not written in vain. I am happy to help others find their own way and footing when the world is shaking around them.

      Thanks for stopping by!

  7. Yes. I know that this was almost two weeks ago. I’m catching up. šŸ˜‰

    I read this when you originally posted it, but I think the delay and now the re-read actually turned out to be a very good thing. Because I’m reading this with completely different thoughts. Mostly I’m thinking about how vividly you convey what depression is like for you. I think that’s something that often gets lost in the shuffle, especially with depression, that it is a completely individual state for each person. Of course there are specific characteristics that are shared, in a general sense. But each of us has our personal particulars, and you have made yours alive here.

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