For a few months there, I dared to think that I might be cured, that I might be over the depressions. This last week has shown otherwise. It's not like Andrew Solomon described depression, where it would deck him for months at a time. For me, I just lose hours, lying in bed helpless with no energy, no resolve, where everything appears hopeless, even things that have nothing to do with me, even the world. It's usually accompanied by a migraine, where I feel awful enough to take a lot of painkillers. I'll usually have a few "good" hours a day, only to sag again.
During these weeks, I'll start things, like this blog entry, and then negate them. My last blog entry is still a draft and probably will never be seen.
Then one day, I snap out of it. I used to have many more bad days before I was on medication. Now, occasionally I'll still hit a bad patch. Last week, including today, was one of them.
Mental illnesses are known to be cyclical. A person gets better or worse. Mind seems to have a cycle within a cycle.
In all truth, I think most illnesses are cyclical until they get into a terminal phase. This might explain why placebos seem to be too effective. Maybe it's mostly not beliefs. Maybe it's the illness itself was due for an upswing. I wonder if medical scientists have ever thought of that.
The headache's returning. I'm going to do some reading . . . then go to bed. I got a little writing done today, at least.
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