You may have noticed that I haven’t posted in this blog lately. I owe you an explanation. Between a knee replacement, lymphedema, and an ankle broken in two places, I’ve been spending my time in and out of hospitals and skilled nursing facilities. Now that my healing is progressing and I am recuperating further at home, I’m ready to start writing again!
I’m Back!
September 28, 2025
I’m Not Fragile
July 13, 2025
TW: Suicidal Ideation
When my husband and I were looking for a new house, we checked out various options. I found a house I liked, but it was too far from the businesses and services we used. Besides, it had a water tower in the backyard (which I was hoping Dan wouldn’t notice).
Then Dan found a beyond-fixer-upper that was crumbling into pieces. He looked at it as a challenge. I told him that if I had to live in it for more than a month, I would be compelled to commit suicide. To this day, I’m not sure whether I was serious.
At last, we found just the right house. Three bedrooms, two of which would be turned into studies. Over an acre of ground with many trees. It was a little more than we could afford, but we decided that this was our dream home.
It also had a small creek running through the property—more like a run-off, really. Dan’s mom tried to talk us out of buying the house. She had been through a flood many years earlier and feared that the tiny creek could possibly get out of control and destroy our house as hers had been.
“Besides,” she said, “Think of Janet. She’s fragile.”
By “fragile,” it was clear she meant my mental health was sometimes shaky, or beyond shaky.
I had made no secret of my bipolar disorder. At first, Mom Reily didn’t “believe” in mental illness, but eventually she admitted that there was something wrong with my brain. But it pissed me off that she used my mental condition to try to influence our choice of houses. However fragile I might be, there was no way that a tiny creek could break me.
I was not that fragile.
Nor was I fragile when our dream home was taken out by a tornado. I survived it, though I was on the upper story when the roof came off. I dealt with the insurance company, the motels, the rental property, our finances, and many of the other details.
I wasn’t fragile then.
Of course, there were times when my mental condition was fragile. There was the time when I was overwhelmed by three full years of a depressive episode, unable to do anything, from self-care to reading. And there was the times when suicide crossed my mind. Sometimes, it was idly wondering the plane I was on might crash (passive suicidal ideation) or if a fall from the balcony I was on would kill me.
Then there was the time I had active suicidal ideation. I had made a plan and everything. But I dithered so long over how, when, and where that the feeling passed, and I didn’t follow through. I didn’t tell anyone for decades, but then I told Dan.
So, have I been fragile? Yes.
But those were all times when there was something wrong inside my head. Flooding and tornados didn’t break me. The times I was fragile were all things that happened because of SMI, not purely physical circumstances.
Now—I’m not broken. I’m not even fragile. Years of therapy, years of meds, years of not experiencing floods and tornados, and years of supportive love from Dan have made me not fragile, but strong at the broken places.
I don’t fear the future. I’m not fragile anymore.
Channeling Positive Thoughts
July 6, 2025
Everyone who reads this blog (and some who don’t) knows what I think of the positivity movement. To put it in words of one syllable, I hate it.
I hate the memes and signs that say “Good vibes only,” or “If you want to feel better, smile,” or “The only disability is a bad attitude.” Or, worst of all, “You don’t need meds, you need to change your thinking.”
This attitude bugs me because it’s too close to the “Think and Grow Rich” gospel, which I can’t stand either. There are people who go around making money by pushing this attitude (or “attitude of gratitude,” as some phrase it).
To me, it dismisses the real emotional pain that many of us feel and the difficulty of making progress toward a happier, more fulfilling life. If it were as easy as just smiling, we wouldn’t have a crisis of mental illness and a lack of appropriate treatments. In real life, however, wishing mental illness away won’t help. You have to work hard at it, take your meds, go to therapy, do the work, and keep trying even when it feels impossible.
Recently, however, I at least partially changed my opinion on positivity. I had my left knee replaced and was faced with a series of complications, from repeated falls to lymphedema (This involves retaining fluids, in my case in my legs, and lots of swelling. It can lead to heart failure, which is why the docs were so concerned.) I had two stays in the hospital, followed in each case by a stay in a post-acute rehab. (Well, okay, a nursing home, but I was on the short-term wing.) All told, my hospital stays and post-acute stays ate up two months. One of my episodes between rehab and back to the hospital lasted only three days.
When I was in the rehab unit, I had Occupational Therapy and Physical Therapy. I don’t really remember much about the first stay, except that I was still affected by the Lasix I had been given in the hospital, so toileting and transfer from the walker to the toilet were things I had to relearn. When I first began, I needed to have a “spotter” in my room and a red cord to pull if anything went wrong. Later, I was deemed skilled enough to manage by myself. All I can say about that is that I was glad I had recently bought a 10-pack of underwear.
The second stay in rehab was more intense. I had to learn some very basic things all over again. How to walk with a walker and a cane without limping. How to sit down into a chair slowly rather than flopping or flinging myself down on it.
OT consisted of relearning to do everyday tasks like showering using a shower chair or bench (every few days, which is a lot more than I had been capable of before rehab). I had to learn to stand on both feet while I did a task like working a jigsaw puzzle to strengthen my balance and put away groceries in the little kitchen they had set up. And I had to learn how to put on compression stockings without help. (This was made easier when my OT person sent me a link to a pair of zippered compression socks I could order. Zippy socks. Of course, I had grippy socks too.)
PT included remembering to sit without my legs in a descending position (they found the one reclining chair in the facility for me to use) and to sleep with the foot of my bed raised. And there were the exercises. I learned to do foot pumps, quad sets, snow angels, glute squeezes, marching, leg lifts, and others using resistance bands. I increased the number of reps and sets for each. I walked for longer and longer distances with a cane. I did first ten, then 15, then 20 minutes on a cycling machine (my favorite). And they asked me what goals I had, and I told them that I needed to walk up 18 steps to get into the house and up to the bedroom on the second floor, and I wanted to be able to walk from the front door, up the gravel driveway to the car. There was a set of four stairs that I climbed up and down with my cane, and they advised me on how to walk on gravel with my walker.
So where does positivity come into all this? The staff appreciated my willingness to try and to try a little more the next day. Whenever I accomplished anything, they said, “Good job!” They told me that when they told some patients that it was time to do PT, they simply turned over or looked away. But I saw patients with more severe conditions than mine trying and trying again.
I made it my goal to increase my workouts daily, to do quad sets and leg lifts even when sitting in the recliner or lying in bed. I learned to decrease both my sodium intake and my fluid intake. And when I walked in my walker down the hall to the PT gym, I was by God positive. I had the determination to do more than the day before, or at least as much. I thanked the therapists for their help. I kept trying, even when it was hard.
So, in that way, it was like being positive about getting better with my mental illness. In that aspect of my life, too, I did the work. I learned new coping techniques. I kept up with what my therapists taught me. I believed in the power of my meds to help stabilize me, no matter how long it took or what anyone said.
It was a grueling education, but I think I came away with a greater respect for the power of positivity — when it’s combined with hard work. Just smiling won’t do it. Smiling and working to improve your situation can.
Pain, Physical and Emotional
May 4, 2025
For the last few weeks, I’ve been concentrating on my knee rather than my brain. If everything went welI, I will have a total knee replacement (last Monday) and have been trying to heal and regain motion ever since.
I’ve known this operation was coming for quite some time. I’ve been using a cane, but walking slower all the time and falling fairly regularly, sometimes hitting my head against hard objects, some of which could have had serious consequences. Now it’s time to take the plunge. By the time I write more, the operation will be over. I’ll be writing on my laptop in bed rather than the desktop in my study, so we’ll see how that goes.
In the run-up to the operation, I’ve been experiencing a lot of anxiety, what with all the doctor’s appointments, orientation, instructions, acquiring equipment, and treating my nervous rash with cortisone cream and antihistamines. My husband, who has an “Emotional Support Husband” t-shirt, has been just that. And my friend Josh, who has been through a number of orthopedic surgeries, has been giving me valuable advice like “Ice is your friend.” Friends and acquaintances are praying for me, the surgeon, and the healthcare team. (Or lighting candles, chanting, or sending good thoughts, whatever they prefer. I’m not picky.)
I’ve been wondering if I really need to do this. Now that I’ve been through it, I find that it hurts quite a lot. The incision is all wrapped up in cotton wool and slick tape. I’m not eager to start peeling off layers anytime soon. My physical symptoms include ones I’ve been trying to get away from like face-plants. And even though my friends, relatives, and PT people seem to think I’m doing pretty well, I’ve miscalculated on the location of the bathroom pretty spectacularly a few times. Gotta work on my timing.
The only part that’s been fun is when we wrote Yes and Nope on my knees so the doc would have an idea where to cut. At the bottom, he autographed the incision. I named the large plush cat that Dan got me Antonio, after the surgeon.
Mostly, I learned that when I’m in pain, I’m more cranky than usual. Dan is more helpful than usual, and I feel more guilty than usual that I need help and need to ask for it. I’m almost capable of turning on the ice machine by myself. I probably need to get the other knee done next year.
My advice (other than “Ice is your friend”) is this: Don’t scorn anyone’s help. You’re really going to need it. Yes, be as independent as you can, but sometimes that’s just not possible. And, just as with your bipolar meds, take them faithfully at the correct times. Also, as with bipolar disorder, do any assignments your doctor (in this case your physical therapist) gives you.
As with emotional pain, so too with physical pain. Both kinds are real. Both kinds require help from others. If you can get past one, you can get past the other. It may seem like they’ll last a lifetime, but that’s just your mind and your body lying to you. There are things you can do to get rid of them both, though it seems like you can’t.
Depression lies. Anxiety lies. And pain lies to you too.
Disability Denied
April 27, 2025
I applied for disability once when I had been suffering from extreme depression, a symptom of my bipolar 2 disorder, for approximately three years. I couldn’t work. Without my income, my husband and I were running out of money and looking for financial assistance.
Here’s what I learned about SSDI from that experience and subsequent research, and I’d like to share it with you.
First, SSDI covers people with a number of conditions: neurocognitive disorders; schizophrenia spectrum and other psychotic disorders; depressive, bipolar, and related disorders; intellectual disorders; anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorders; somatic symptom and related disorders; personality and impulse-control disorders; autism spectrum disorder; neurodevelopmental disorders; eating disorders; and trauma- and stressor-related disorders.
Lots of people have one or more of those conditions. My diagnosis was bipolar 2 with anxiety. After I made my application and jumped through all the necessary hoops, I was denied. Here’s a look at the most common reasons that claims are denied.
You may have incomplete documentation or it may be unorganized and lacking in detail. I had plenty of documentation from my psychiatrist, whom I’d been seeing for years. I should mention that getting those documents from him so I could submit them cost quite a bit. I understood this. My doctor and his office had a lot to do in order to go through my copious files and organize and copy them. (It was only then that I discovered that I was diagnosed not only with bipolar 2 but with anxiety.)
No mental health record. You may have started your psychiatric journey with your primary care physician. They may have been the first one to prescribe you a medication such as an antidepressant. They probably didn’t record when your problem began, a formal diagnosis, or what treatment you required aside from the medication. The PCP generally doesn’t record how your condition affects your daily life as well as cognitive functions like memory and concentration.
Noncompliance with treatment. If you haven’t followed your doctor’s orders such as taking your medication as prescribed, attending regular sessions, or doing “homework” that your therapist may have assigned, it will count against you.
Your disability hasn’t gone on long enough. The longer your condition has affected you, the more likely you are to receive disability. In my case, I had been diagnosed with bipolar for many years, but was only severely impaired for a few years when I applied.
Employment work history. This means not just your present job, but any job you’ve held. They use this to determine whether you can still work at some job, in which case, your application will most likely be turned down.
Question of malingering. The Social Security people are—not to say eager—but on the alert for any sign that you’re not really disabled. As part of this, they put you through psychological tests to assess your concentration, memory, and other cognitive functions.
Here are some of the tests you can expect.
Intelligence tests. I don’t know why this is even a factor, but for some reason you could be tested. (IQ really has nothing to do with disability.) These tests won’t be based on your academic achievement, just your IQ.
Standardized tests of adaptive functioning, plus conceptual, social, and practical skills to function in your daily life.
Neuropsychological batteries and memory tests. Neuropsychological batteries include tests of attention and concentration; executive functions (planning, organization, problem-solving, and decision-making); language; visual-spatial skills; motor function; and intellectual functioning.
I still remember taking a number of these tests. There was the one where I heard a story and answered questions about it: Did Ed take the umbrella or the raincoat? Did he check the weather in the paper or on the TV? Did he put on the raincoat before or after he left the building? I had to put blocks together to match a pattern. I had to take two words and say what was similar or different about them. (One pair was “acceptance” and “avoidance.”) I had to answer as many factual questions as I could, of increasing difficulty. I had to say what the phrase “What goes around, comes around” means.
There may also be personality measures, symptom validity tests, performance validity tests, and screening tests (to determine whether more tests are needed).
The tests, as you can imagine, took hours and were exhausting. I did my best on them. Maybe I did too well. After all that and more waiting, my claim was denied. I hired a disability rights lawyer, who advised me to drop the claim, saying that I was unlikely to be judged eligible. By that time I had a work-from-home job as a subcontractor for an educational video firm. When I told the lawyer how much I made per hour, he said the judge’s head would explode. It wasn’t steady, full-time work, but the hourly rate was significant.
By that time, however, I had pulled out of the years of depression and didn’t feel like pursuing the claim any further. Since that time, I’ve never considered going through it all again.
And I hope I never have to.
What Mental Wellness Means to Me
April 20, 2025
It would be easy to say that mental wellness means not having a mental illness. The people who don’t have one have something they should be thankful for. But most of them take mental wellness for granted unless there is mental illness in their family or a close friend.
As for me, I have been through cycles of mental wellness and mental illness from my early years till now. For a long time, I was undiagnosed. A person who hasn’t been diagnosed with any psychiatric condition is generally assumed to be mentally well. That’s not always the case, however. It wasn’t in mine.
I’d have to say that I was not experiencing mental wellness during the years when I was undiagnosed. I had plenty of symptoms that were not recognized as such, partly because back in the day, bipolar wasn’t widely recognized and diagnosed.
By the time I was in high school, some people could tell that, if not actually mentally ill, I was not mentally well. But I was functioning well enough to go to college and get a degree, a fact I don’t consider a sign of mental health, just a temporary let-up in many of my symptoms—not all of them, though.
While I didn’t diagnose myself with anything after I left college, I knew something wasn’t right. I could tell I was not mentally healthy, and I started getting help. I got a diagnosis, medication, and talk therapy. The diagnosis was depression, which was certainly my major symptom.
I was able to get jobs, live on my own, go to grad school, and get married. Was I mentally healthy? By those objective measures, I was. I guess I was what you would call high-functioning. (I understand that some people object to the term as a way to classify and separate neurodivergent people.)
Eventually, I received the proper diagnosis of bipolar 2 and anxiety, the appropriate medication, and effective talk therapy. Did that make me mentally healthy?
I’d have to say no. I still have symptoms of my disorders, and they impede my life and what I can do. By my own definition, it seems I will never be truly mentally healthy. I will continue to have some reduced symptoms, be on medication, and have a therapist I can turn to if needed. I require a lot of support from my husband when it comes to tasks of daily living.
Still, though I can’t say I’m mentally healthy, I don’t feel that I am mentally ill. I’m somewhere in the middle. If there were a sliding scale with mentally well at one end and mentally ill at the other, I would be somewhere in the middle, moving back and forth between the extremes. Nowadays, I’m content to live in that middle space. I don’t beat myself up because I’m not totally at the healthy end of the scale. I’m grateful that I don’t live at the other end.
Living between the two poles can be confusing. I try not to “take my emotional temperature” too often, but I do try to monitor whether I may be closer to the unhealthy end. Then I find help or help myself to move that scale closer to the center. Most of the time, I don’t think much about it.
Am I mentally ill? Not really. Am I mentally healthy? Not completely. I’m just glad that I have more moments at the healthy end of the scale than at the unhealthy end.
Anxiety Lies, Too
April 13, 2025
There are a number of mantras in the mental healthcare field: Mental Health Matters, My Story Isn’t Over, It’s Okay to Not Be Okay, Men’s Mental Health: Let’s Talk About It, You Are Stronger Than You Think.
The most common expression, perhaps, is: Depression Lies. Lots of people say it to themselves and others. Jenny Lawson says it frequently in her blog posts and books. It means that when you’re depressed, your mind tells you things that aren’t true—that you’re hopeless, useless, bad, unlovable, unloved, incompetent, incapable of ever feeling any better. And because you’re depressed, you believe them. You have an inner critic that repeats the false messages. They’re with you all the time, whatever you do. They keep you mired in your hopeless condition. It takes a long time to turn off those inner voices and their negative messages. It takes work.
But another truism that doesn’t get as much attention is this: Anxiety lies, too.
Anxiety tells you that you’ll fail, that only bad things await you, that you shouldn’t even try to achieve your goals, that something will thwart you, that you have only bad luck and you can’t change it, that every fear you have will come true, no matter what you do.
Anxiety can keep you from doing the things you want to do, whether that’s getting on an airplane, applying for a job, or starting a conversation. The inner critic from depression has its anxiety equivalent: your inner defeatist.
And when you have something to do that by all objective standards would make anyone anxious, like having an operation, taking a final exam, or getting married, your inner defeatist won’t let you accomplish it, or at least not without immobilizing fear. When I say immobilizing, I mean that literally. You can become so anxious that you can’t move—can’t get out of bed or out of your house, stop your hands or knees from shaking, force yourself to enter a room, or even speak.
So, what can you do when anxiety lies to you? How can you defeat your inner defeatist?
I have help on this one. My husband serves as my outer realist. When my anxiety soars and I’m catastrophizing, he helps me stay grounded. He tells me when my fears are unrealistic. He goes with me to difficult occasions like visits to the dentist. He reminds me of times when I’ve gotten through similar situations in the past. I can—and do—lean on him. He reminds me that anxiety lies.
But what can you do if you don’t have an outer realist like Dan? One thing you could try is to seek your inner Mr. Spock. Ask yourself if it’s logical to fear this event. Is it logical to think you’ll get a zero on the test you’ve studied all week for? No. You may not get 100, but getting a zero isn’t likely or logical. However, this strategy doesn’t usually work. Anxiety whispers: “You’ve been studying the wrong things. You’ll freeze up.” But it lies.
Another way to try defeating anxiety is to make a list of what you’re anxious about and assign a probability to each one. How likely is it that your plane will crash? Find statistics to reach a reasonable answer. (The answer is seven fatal accidents in over 40.6 million flights.) But, practical as this sounds, it doesn’t work well either. Anxiety whispers in your brain: “You’ll be on the one that crashes.” But it lies.
Another technique is to look at your track record. Of all the times you’ve been introduced to a stranger, how many times have you been unable to even say hello? Never? Anxiety whispers: “This time you won’t be able to.” Anxiety lies.
You could also find a sympathetic support person who can walk you through your anxiety. It doesn’t have to be someone who’s around all the time, like my husband is. You may have a friend that you can call for a reality check and a pep talk, or someone who will go with you to that doctor’s appointment. An outer supporter is more powerful than an inner defeatist. Someone who has been through it themselves can tell you from lived experience: Anxiety lies.
Perhaps the most effective way to defeat your inner defeatist is to talk back to it. Say, “I know you’re lying. My anxiety is real, but I know I can do the thing, or at least part of it. You don’t exist. I don’t have to listen to you.”
And of course, your therapist and your meds can help you during times when anxiety lies to you, when you are inclined to believe what it whispers to you anyway.
Let this become your mantra: Anxiety lies. Say it whenever anxiety whispers its dire warnings.
Anxiety lies.
Politics, Mood, and Self-Care
April 6, 2025
It’s difficult for me to maintain a positive mental attitude when I’m troubled by bipolar disorder, especially the depression part. It’s even more difficult in today’s political landscape.
I don’t care what your political persuasion is or who you voted for. I don’t care if you’re for or against DEI or ICE. What I care about these days is what’s happening to mental healthcare in our country. But let’s leave government policies and programs for another day. Right now, I want to discuss politics and mood disorders.
We seem to be overwhelmed by politics, but also by our reactions to politics. Friendships have broken. Families have been torn apart. Lots of people suffer from cognitive dissonance when their brains try to balance their love for friends and family and distress at their views.
None of us knows what to expect next. The difficulty isn’t limited to one side or the other. People who want smaller government are learning that the cuts will include public services such as extreme weather forecasting and disaster recovery. Others with differing views are afraid to travel abroad because they fear that, even with passports, they may be detained when they try to return.
The situation is especially hard on people with mood disorders. People who have phobias or anxiety disorders can find their feelings increasingly out of control. Those who suffer from depression have exaggerated fears. Most debilitating of all is the not-knowing. Am I overreacting? Are these fears reasonable or exaggerated? Will the things I fear never happen? Should I watch the news? Should I avoid watching the news?
I’m suffering from news-dependent symptoms myself. I hesitate to discuss politics with friends unless I already know their opinions are similar to mine. And with new acquaintances on Facebook, I share memes and chat about books.
But when it comes to not getting overwhelmed, I have a few suggestions. Most of them you may already know—they’re versions of basic self-care.
Remove yourself from the trigger. Get out of the room or the house when the talk turns to politics. Offer to go on a beer run. Leave the room and make yourself a cup of tea. Tell your friends or relatives you need to get some air. The outdoors is largely a politics-free zone, aside from bumper stickers and billboards. If you walk with a friend, stay on non-threatening topics like your pets. And prepare a neutral topic to suggest: Do you think the Dodgers have a chance this year? What do you think of Beyoncé’s country album? Should I go on a Disney cruise this year or a trek to the Grand Canyon?
Self-soothing. Music is another way to distract yourself from the present chaos when you take that walk or any other time. Personally, I prefer music with lyrics, as instrumental music gives me too much time and space to contemplate difficult topics. If you wear earbuds (even without music), people are less likely to engage you in conversation.
Use distractions. If you read, stay away from news magazines, the internet, and newspapers. Instead, you may want to revisit books from your childhood. There’s nothing wrong with reading children’s books. They may take you back to a more pleasant time, or you may discover aspects of a book that you never noticed when you were young. Or try a new genre, such as a romance or mystery that isn’t likely to contain much politics. Old classics like Dickens or Austen are good choices, too.
Limit your exposure. Allow yourself 20 minutes for listening to or reading the news. You can do this more than once a day, but leave a couple of hours in between. Clean the bathroom or watch a reality show. Organize your closet. Plant flowers or herbs.
Do things that lift you up. Pray. Sing. Bake bread. Work on a journal or a painting. Do life-affirming activities that will improve your outlook and your spirit.
Oh, yeah. And remember to take your meds, especially if you have an anti-anxiety pill. You’ll need them.
What Meds Am I On?
March 30, 2025
I see a lot of posts in the bipolar/mental health Facebook groups that I belong to asking what medications people take and advice on which ones they should take. “Has Caplyta worked for you?” “What side effects have you had from Lamictal?” “Can I take both Zoloft and Ativan?” “Can I take an antipsychotic with Nyquil?”
Fortunately, I have a quick and easy answer to all these questions—I don’t know.
The main reason I can’t answer those questions is that I’m not a doctor. All the questions should be directed to your prescribing physician (usually your psychiatrist). The other reason is that every person reacts differently to different medications.
Think about it. Every drug comes with a whole, long list of possible side effects, and there’s no telling which ones you might get. It’s impossible to know for certain how the various drugs will interact with one another. I might get a rash, while you might get an upset stomach. Each of us has to decide for ourselves which side effects we can live with and which are intolerable.
I’ve drawn the line at drugs that gave me terrible nightmares, ones that made my hands tremble, and one that affected my memory. (I told my doctor about that one, and he said, “Yes, that drug can have that effect. Stop taking it.”) The point is that memory problems were one possible side effect, but he didn’t know that I would have that effect until I did. If I got a question about what reaction I had to that drug, I’d have to say, it affected me one way, but it may affect you another way. I got what I considered a deal-breaker reaction. You could get that same side effect, of course, but you could also get a more tolerable one or none at all.
When you get into the area of multiple medications, it’s even more difficult to give a sensible answer. Maybe an SSRI combined with an anti-anxiety med will make you sleepy. Or not. A lot of us take more than one med—with all the different ones out there, the combinations are virtually endless. Your doctor may be able to tell you that one combination is likely to increase sleepiness or make you anxious, but some people tolerate them better than others do.
When people ask me what meds I take, I never tell them the specifics. I respond with categories. I take an SSRI, an anticonvulsant, an anti-anxiety, an antipsychotic, and occasionally a sleeping pill. (Plus non-psychiatric medications for high blood pressure, cholesterol, and so on.) I have pills I take in the morning and ones I take at night. I have tolerable side effects.
Does it sound to you like I’m over-medicated? That’s between me and my psychiatrist, and he doesn’t think so. We review my medications regularly, adjusting them as needed, but my basic meds haven’t changed in years. I have a “cocktail” that works for me and no desire to change. Not even for the newest medications I hear about on all those commercials.
So, no, I can’t tell you how a certain drug will work for you or what side effects you’ll have. You can find out about possible side effects online if you want to, but they may only scare you. (My doctor told me not to look up one side effect online. “It’s gross,” he said. So, of course, I did. He was right. It was gross.) Not everyone gets a particular side effect. In fact, the likelihood of getting any specific one is low. I will say that mixing prescribed meds with over-the-counter ones isn’t a good idea. How they will interact can be a problem. But that’s true of any combination of drugs.
And weed? I have no idea how that reacts with any psychiatric medication or any combination of them. I’d avoid it while I was on psych meds. You don’t know the strength of what you’re getting, possible additives, or your own reactions (which can differ from person to person—euphoria, sleepiness, paranoia, relaxation, excitation, etc. I wouldn’t even offer a guess about that.
Depression and the Dickhead
March 23, 2025
“Depression isn’t real. You feel sad, you move on. You will always be depressed if your life is depressing. Change it.”
Now, before you jump all over me, let me say that I never said that. It’s a tweet from Andrew Tate, who’s back in the news lately, because he’s had some problems owing to bad behavior. And when I say bad behavior, I mean it’s led to criminal and civil charges in the U.S, Romania, Florida, and the U.K. Many of these were related to rape, human trafficking, online harassment, organized crime aimed at sexually exploiting women, tax evasion, sex with a minor, money laundering, and trying to influence witnesses. His presence in the Twitterverse (X-verse?) has promoted pimping and violence against women, as well as general misogyny. He’s an attention whore, a conspiracy theorist, and a walking, talking example of toxic masculinity.
But I’m here today to discuss his expressed opinions on depression.
The quote caused quite a stir and was immediately challenged.
Obviously, there are a few things wrong with Tate’s opinions. First is the notion that depression isn’t real. It’s merely being sad. To quote Hemingway, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”
The millions of us with major depressive disorder and bipolar depression would love it if our disorder was merely sadness. If we could just move on. If we could only change our lives by willing it. Kick depression out of our heads, as we should be able to, according to Tate, a former kickboxer.
Then Tate threw more fuel on the fire. He tweeted “MY DEPRESSION INBOX. Is hilarious. Full of crybabys. . . .”
Admittedly, many depressed people cry. But that doesn’t make us crybabies. Babies stop crying when their needs are met. People in the throes of depression don’t know if their need for, if not happiness, at least not-despair, will ever be met.
When I first became clinically depressed I was a child and knew nothing about the condition. But I knew I was profoundly troubled. I assumed that if I waited long enough, I would come through the other side, and the depression would lift by itself at some point—or it wouldn’t. Being undiagnosed and unmedicated, all I could do was wait for that to happen.
Now older and wiser (and diagnosed and medicated), I know some things I can do to shorten that time until the depression lifts. I can take my medications. I can practice self-care. I can call my therapist. I can turn to my husband. Now I know—really know and understand—that my depression isn’t forever, even if my disorder is. But that doesn’t mean depression isn’t real. It doesn’t mean that I can snap my fingers and change it.
I do know that, if I have to, I can push through depression instead of waiting for it to ease up on its own. Taking my meds is one way I do that. Meeting my self-imposed blogging deadlines is another. Paying the mortgage and power bill, too. In some way those are life-affirming activities or at least statements that I am still connected to the world—however tenuously—and that I want and need to come out of depression and get on with my real life.
It’s ridiculous to say “move on” or “change it,” as Tate did. Depression comes and goes when it wills. All we can do is endure it and keep pushing back until it gives us the tiniest toehold. Then take that tiny purchase and push some more. It’s the hardest thing in the world when depression has sapped you, but believe me, you can push back. It won’t allow you to change your depression as if it no longer exists. We can no more change the fact that we have depression than we can our height. We do what we can to persist despite that.
So screw you, Andrew Tate.
And screw you, depression.
Janet Coburn
Bipolar Me 
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