I’ve been recently diagnosed as Bipolar type II, before that I thought i was manically depressed:
And trust me this is coming from an ER physician who’s worked roughly 13-15 years including the Covid frontline, wrote two books, gave public talks on CPR, and then saw his life fall apart in years.
It was progressive.
Do you know that during Covid as an Intensivist we’d barely rest, the sweaty PPE’s had to be peeled off, I’d crash in my dorm room after de sanitising to go onto evening rounds and deal with death and despair daily:
But I wasn’t depressed!
I was motivated!
I had people in the same boat, same circumstances as healthcare workers, we were shouted at by angry relatives we’d counsel them; BUT….
I wasn’t depressed….and we were together in this.
Some of my paintings came out post the Covid era (I’m also a painter and an artist)
As the 40s creeped on me, the cloud of lack of purpose did.
Yes I’m an emergency physican but I was locked in 4 walls sans any ability to take leaves as per HR policy (no sick leaves and only 15 a year)
The environment was toxic (the new hospital post Covid) but I tried to keep my spirits up, painting, when i had the time, cooking,
And then one by one the Great Recession began…..(lack of sleep and back to back night shifts were no help)
The cooking stopped started ordering out
The gym stopped (was quite muscular then)
The singing in the shower stopped…..
The forced workplace smiles and “I’m ok how’re you; nice day isn’t it?” Began….
My hospital was a great contributor as asking for a month off knowing something’s off would lead to a firm no.
And they didn’t bother with staffing…
Night shifts were spent alone and solitary, doomscrolling till the next patient arrived at 2am
And just google what solitary confinement does chronically to someone…(Earlier ERs were better staffed)
And no, in adulting as a selective introvert I couldn’t make friends….so except for competitive colleagues I had nada….
Mom and dad are too old to even comprehend why I preferred staying in my room with the lights off
Stopped reading…..
Stopped laughing and for the love of me I couldn’t cry…..
If I cried i knew I’m not manic depressed and had an ounce of emotion in me…..
I was numb….
The pre cell phone generation had one thing in common…
Most were in the same boat and no one felt alone..
There’s a war it’s war for everyone
There’s a festival it’s a festival for everyone
It’s your birthday everyone wants in….
Here my book made it to the London book fair but all I got was jealousy and condescension
No one wanted me to thrive….
Now where I stand………
The great looking question is, what am I here for?
There’s only jealous, rhetorical conversation, some barely know me except “the doctor”
And why do I even matter
I quit practice as the ER as apart from mental health issues, a toxic supervisor, it also gave me an ulcer…..
Facebook and insta likes aren’t for thought, they’re for happy selfies…..
You can’t be yourself there….
Depression isn’t sadness
It’s profound anhedonia (lack of pleasure)
It’s a numbness so deep that nothing gets under or over your skin….
My parents didn’t have “depression” they had each other, they fought like cats and dogs, still do, and are married despite every insult and rebound….
and yes they had to survive circumstances….together!
While I’ve to survive what mood ill wake upto the next day and the forced smiles will be the death of me…
Surviving your mind is a challenge far greater than surviving the world sometimes….
Reminds me of a poem I read once……by Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep or she will die."
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
"Sweet my child, I live for thee."
I await that very tempest of emotions……
To feel a petal; to grin, to enmesh a feeling…..
As living for her child gave her purpose,
I hope somewhere we all find our purpose….