It’ll be easier to stay tucked in bed today than to face the world. The monsters that creep into my head keep telling me what a failure and loser I am. (As if I didn’t already know.) The weight of the “depression kitty” (I have to credit Big Mouth for that) is too unbearable to lift off my chest today. Anyway, the door seems too far to muster up the courage to make that journey. This blanket is so cozy and compresses me and my feelings just right. The pillow on my stomach keeps my churning stomach at bay. My neck and back ache and I can’t seem to find the root of it. I smell my own BO, and I washed my hair a few days ago, but I lost count. That is gross but true.
It’s hard to get out of bed sometimes. The days turn into weeks which turn into months. Am I even getting any older? Who knows. I keep waking up to the sound of the trash trucks and lawnmowers all getting on with their days. It should be that easy for me, but it isn’t. The damn neighbor’s dog won’t ever stop barking; if only I could get a little more peace. Just a little more.
Maybe I’ll smoke my worries away. I’ll watch them swirl up into oblivion only to feel them reabsorb as the high wanes. Marilyn said, “The nicest thing for me is to sleep; then, at least, I can dream.” Many of us feel that way when facing a mental health condition. For me, it’s that sweet, sweet sting of depression. It can be overwhelming, and the thoughts can become unbearable. I don’t want to feel this way and face the world. It’s too much, and it’s hard to explain to people who don’t understand.
I had a glass of wine which turned into a bottle. Do I go for another to numb the pain and pass out? If I do, I’ll find the next morning even worse than where I began the day before. Alcohol is a depressant, and I know it’s wrong to use it as a reliever, but sometimes that little relief feels necessary. The hangover reminds me why I can’t rely on this substance to get me through. Also, my sleep wasn’t as sound as I had hoped, and I can thank alcohol for that.
What do I do? I don’t want to go to work, school, family, or social events. I want to stay in bed, away from it all, away from the energy drainers who can’t understand why I feel the way I do. I get it; not everyone has experienced depression or another mental health condition. You’re lucky, but please don’t tell me to get over it. It’s not that easy, and while it’s partly true, I have to learn how to cope with my illness independently; I’m the only one who will always be there during each depressive episode. I promise that while it may seem I am “dramatic,” I don’t want to be here either. It only makes it worse to be told you’re trying to get attention. Don’t you think I’d rather be out living my best life than stuck in here? Of course, I would, and maybe someday I will.
*A journal entry from my younger days. This is not reflective of my current mental state. However, if this resonates with you, please visit the resource page to seek immediate help. You’re not alone, and this, too, shall pass.