Whenever I feel or see a big depressive episode on the horizon Pattie and I refer to it as the “Rabbit Hole”. Weeks before my Grammy died I saw it coming, felt it coming. It is a black hole that pulls me toward it. Just grabs me from the middle and pulls, yanks and drags me kicking and screaming. Sometimes I can dig my heels in and fight it, lessen the blow, decrease the depressive episode. Sometimes, like now, I can’t.
I felt the pull over a month ago so I dug in my heels and prepared to fight. I was doing okay, I guess; okay, not really. I was stretched across the top of the Rabbit Hole hanging on by my toes and fingertips. Then Grammy died and my world collapsed. I was sent hurtling down the hole without anything to grab on to in an attempt to slow my fall.
The Rabbit Hole is ever changing sort of like the staircases in Hogwarts in the Harry Potter movies. It can be anything it wants. Look anyway it desires and screws me over six ways from Sunday. Sometimes, it can be a short bout of depression with a soft landing on a patch of moss at the end. One where I come out on the other side fairly unscathed and continue on with my life. This isn’t one of those Rabbit Holes.
These walls are tiled, leaving me nothing to grab and hold on to or at least slow my decent. It also isn’t a short hole, it’s long. Longer than I’ve seen in a while, I honestly have no idea just how far this one goes. I can see the bottom, feel it rushing up to meet me, to harm me. The bottom of this hole is made of razor-sharp, steel spikes. There’s no avoiding them nor is there protection from them. They are the inevitable, the incredibly painful end to my fall.
We began to use the phrase the “Rabbit Hole” from Alice and Wonderland. She follows the White Rabbit finally catches up to him at his rabbit hole and he jumps; then, without thinking, she jumps too. Without any idea what she’s getting herself into or what lies at the bottom, she simply jumps. That’s how I feel when a major bout of depression is looming ahead of me. The White Rabbit is my black hole, which pulls me forward and eventually sucks me in altogether. The rabbit hole is my depression. I’m powerless to control it. I can’t stop to think about whether or not I should jump, I simply allow the White Rabbit, the black hole to pull me in.
Now, here I am. Writing the world’s most depressing blog post about death, loss and major depressive episodes. It’s where I am at the moment. I can’t change that, believe me, I’ve tried. I simply have to continue to fall, land hard, pick myself up and start all over again as best I can.
My largest problem is that my poor family is dragged along for the ride. They don’t have a say, a vote. This isn’t a democracy. It’s a dictatorship and my Bipolar Type II is in control. The rest of us, myself included, are clueless, helpless and just along for the horrific ride.
Down I fall. No idea how long. No help to my family. Lost in my own little world in an attempt to numb the pain, stop the racing thoughts, and simply survive, until the next one comes along.