I wrote about feeling heavy a few weeks ago. It’s never really lifted, and I feel just a kind of lassitude. I don’t know how to describe it otherwise. I’m just not cheerful. At the same time, it doesn’t feel tremendously awful. This feeling has a bottom.

I know what it feels like at the bottom of the pit of despair. I was there many, many years ago. I haven’t been there in a very long time, over a decade, and I hope to never return. Still, I feel low.

I have good reason to feel low. There’s the parental thing. There are enormous changes at my job directly causing me pain. I’m single, and I don’t want to be.

Here’s the thing I’ve never written about. My finances are a mess. I’m so ashamed of it. I’m going to talk about it in therapy tomorrow. I’ve talked about it there before. It’s not credit card debt thankfully.

I had a plan – an actual budgeted, written plan – to get myself out of this mess, and then the changes at work happened putting everything in turmoil. My salary is going to be decreased, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to make it.

[I am editing this post after having written it. I want to add that difficulty with finances and overspending is an honest symptom of bipolar disorder. It’s written in the DSM-V. It’s right there in black and white. This is a real diagnosable thing. Did I mention that in this post when I originally wrote it? No. That’s how deep my shame is about my finances. I have a real illness that causes me difficulty, but because it’s a mental illness and there is stigma attached to it, I feel shame. I still think this is completely my fault. Did I spend the money? Yes. Do I have to pay my bills? Yes. Do I need to feel shame about it? No.]

I’ve written all this to say that I have good reason to feel low. This is not unreasonable.

I also know this low is shallow, because I’m at work, and I’m functioning. I’m getting stuff done. My mood is down, but it’s not desperately low. If this were despair like I’ve experienced in the distant past, I would not get out of bed.

Writing about all this helps. I know this for a fact: speaking my pain out loud makes it lose some of its power. That’s one of the reasons therapy is so powerful. It’s a time to go and talk about all the crap in my life to a person who is not personally involved in all the mess. It’s validating to hear him simply tell me that yes, indeed, I have a lot going on.

I know I’m going to make it through all this mire. I know this will end, and I will feel better. I just wish it would hurry up.