I’m going through a depressive episode. It’s okay, it’s just part of living with bipolar disorder. But I haven’t wanted to tell anyone about it. I’ve tried to “handle it”. I’ve been standing in the rain trying to force the sun to come out. The other night all the heaviness came spilling out over something really small and inconsequential, as it always does when I try to push the unpleasant out of the way. It begs to be released from its prison of denial. I finally told my loved one that I am depressed and have been fighting it for about six weeks now. I told him that I’ve been embarrassed because being depressed makes me feel weak and unstable. I so badly want to be in control of depression. I wish I could throw all my coping skills at it and the depression would just go away. I was afraid that if he saw me depressed he would not want to stay with me. We’ve talked about my bipolar disorder, and I’ve been open and transparent about my past. He’s never judged, only loved.