I know that social isolation is a symptom of depression, but I've never really thought about it from a cause-and-effect perspective... Today I realized with alarming clarity why I choose to spend so much time alone when I'm depressed. In thinking about how to ease my way into more social interaction in a safe and welcoming environment, I decided to volunteer to help out with an Extreme Makeover event at my new church today. In return for donuts and coffee in the morning, and a pretty tasty lunch, a few dozen volunteers showed up to clean, paint and spruce up the landscaping. All week, I'd been looking forward to the opportunity to get some exercise, do something positive for a worthy cause, and meet some new people while doing it. I guess two out of three ain't bad.
When I'm at home alone, I choose to believe that I've made a choice. For whatever reason, I've chosen solitude. I can chose what I want to do (or not do), I can chose what, when or even if I'm going to eat, I can chose to go to bed early or stay up late reading or watching TV. There's no one to answer to, compromise with, or make allowances for. Yet, despite the obvious advantages, I know that long periods of self-inflicted isolation are unhealthy, particularly in the case of bipolar disorder or depression.
Yet socializing for the sake of being around other people isn't all it's cracked up to be either. The absolute lonliest times of my life were when sharing a house and a life with a husband who no longer loved me. How ironic that one can be utterly alone when there's another body sleeping inches away in the same bed.
But my experience today confirmed an even more troubling thought that I've been trying to avoid for quite some time now. Now that I'm no longer married, my lonliest times are spent in church. How sad is that? That's the one place that I'd expect to feel loved, valued and appreciated most, but sadly, it seems that you're either in the in-crowd at church or you're not. Sometimes the awareness of being "different" comes when and where we least expect it.
Last week I attended a bipolar support group meeting. It was very small, there were only 5 of us present, but I honestly can't remember the last time I felt so accepted and supported. How is it that this group of complete strangers was able to connect and offer each other support and encouragement and a safe place to explore their thoughts and feelings so effortlessly? I think it has to do with an undeniable kinship born of understanding and compassion that people living with bipolar disorder or depression share. If you've tried to explain what it's like to be bipolar to your family members or your closest friends and you've seen the blank stares or heard the well-meaning but hurtful replies, you know what the saying about walking a mile in a man's (or woman's) shoes really means.
So, where does this leave me? Going to a bipolar support group meeting every chance I get. As for the rest of the time, I've given up on marriage, but I'm not quite ready to give up on church yet. I'd hoped that my church-shopping days were over, but I suppose not quite.
When I'm at home alone, I choose to believe that I've made a choice. For whatever reason, I've chosen solitude. I can chose what I want to do (or not do), I can chose what, when or even if I'm going to eat, I can chose to go to bed early or stay up late reading or watching TV. There's no one to answer to, compromise with, or make allowances for. Yet, despite the obvious advantages, I know that long periods of self-inflicted isolation are unhealthy, particularly in the case of bipolar disorder or depression.
Yet socializing for the sake of being around other people isn't all it's cracked up to be either. The absolute lonliest times of my life were when sharing a house and a life with a husband who no longer loved me. How ironic that one can be utterly alone when there's another body sleeping inches away in the same bed.
But my experience today confirmed an even more troubling thought that I've been trying to avoid for quite some time now. Now that I'm no longer married, my lonliest times are spent in church. How sad is that? That's the one place that I'd expect to feel loved, valued and appreciated most, but sadly, it seems that you're either in the in-crowd at church or you're not. Sometimes the awareness of being "different" comes when and where we least expect it.
Last week I attended a bipolar support group meeting. It was very small, there were only 5 of us present, but I honestly can't remember the last time I felt so accepted and supported. How is it that this group of complete strangers was able to connect and offer each other support and encouragement and a safe place to explore their thoughts and feelings so effortlessly? I think it has to do with an undeniable kinship born of understanding and compassion that people living with bipolar disorder or depression share. If you've tried to explain what it's like to be bipolar to your family members or your closest friends and you've seen the blank stares or heard the well-meaning but hurtful replies, you know what the saying about walking a mile in a man's (or woman's) shoes really means.
So, where does this leave me? Going to a bipolar support group meeting every chance I get. As for the rest of the time, I've given up on marriage, but I'm not quite ready to give up on church yet. I'd hoped that my church-shopping days were over, but I suppose not quite.
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