Depression

You go to bed one night, and while you don't necessarily have anything to look forward to the next day, you don't bear any ill will toward it. It should be just another day. You should be able to get up in the morning and shower, brush your teeth, wash your face, make breakfast, etc.

When you have depression, sometimes you really can't tell when it's going to hit. So sometimes, you wake up the next day and you just can't. You can't do any of it. And there's no clear reason why. It's as though someone has broken into your mind and taken you hostage.

It feels like there are two of you. One of them is the Real You, locked inside, with not enough strength to break through and override this new... Something. You don't know what it is, but it's familiar. And you hate it. This has happened before.

You end up spending the entire morning and early afternoon in bed. And you just can't. The Real You is screaming. "Get up! Get the fuck up! Get up right now, you don't have to feel like this. You can help yourself if you just GET. UP."

Sometimes, you can't get up. You will spend the entire day in that bed. You will forget to eat or drink. You will only get up to go to the bathroom once, and that's because you can't hold it forever. You will ignore all responsibilities and self care. You will spend hour after hour scrolling through the internet on your phone, begging to see something, anything, that makes you feel... Something. Anything. That thing might never come.

Other people pass you by on your various social medias. You barely absorb what's happening. The real you is desperate, banging at the bars on the windows of your mind to please, please let you out so you can join in the fun. It does look fun-- to do things, to move forward. To live life. But today, you can't do it. You care about nothing and no one. You can't even bother to care to hope that maybe tomorrow will be better.




But sometimes, the Real You wedges its way into the cracks of the bars on the windows, and you find that they're not so impossible to snap as you thought. Difficult, yes, but not impossible.

You start with getting out of bed and turning on the shower. Baby steps, you tell yourself. You get in the shower, and the routine of it sets in. You're able to complete your task with no casualties, and after that, everything seems marginally... smoother. Familiar.

You keep the ball rolling. You complete your face routine. You brush your teeth. You don't do a great job of it, but you braid your hair-- at least you did it. You pin it up, because you know that wet hair on your neck bothers you, and you can't have anything else bothering you today. You know that the progress you've made so far is fragile.

You get dressed-- in actual clothes that you can leave the house in, not just another set of PJs, nor even the PJs you took off when you got into the shower. Real, clean clothes. Clothes that you like. A favorite shirt, a comfy pair of jeans. You finally look presentable, if not entirely happy. You glance at the mirror several times but you can't look yourself in the eye-- yet.

You know you like tea, so you put the kettle on. Tea has been helping lately, on the days when it almost gets this bad. Tea will help.

The tea does help. And you're starting to feel things again. You start to notice you're hungry-- you haven't eaten for almost 24 hours. But not hungry enough yet. There is more progress to be made.

You throw open the windows-- it's a nice day for the second day in a row, after months and months of the gloom and rain of winter. You know you need the fresh air.

You already made sure that you're wearing real clothes-- a part of you was planning to go get the mail, and you didn't even notice. You're making routine decisions again-- a good sign. You walk, instead of driving, even though it's at least a quarter of a mile to the boxes. You know you need it. The Real You is getting stronger and the Something is gone now. The Real You is just undoing the damage, blowing away the fog. You know you can do this.

You walk to the mailboxes with your head down, not entirely thrilled to be outside but not hating it either. The sun feels good. You only hope that no one talks to you, because like the food, you haven't uttered a word in nearly 24 hours. You're not ready for verbal conversation. Baby steps.

You finally make it back to the house, mail in tow, and it strikes you-- you're finally hungry. You were always hungry, but now you care enough to do something about it and have the capability to do something.

You make lunch. You message a couple of friends. You pet your cat, who you notice looks very sweet in the sunlight.

Lunch is delicious. It dawns on you that you finally have wants and needs again. The fog has lifted, but the bridge you've built is still fragile. You are wary of the fog returning.

But you trek on for one more day. You won today. If it comes back tomorrow, you might not win. Sometimes the Real You is too tired of fighting to fight on that day. But maybe the next day you can do it. Maybe you can keep the ball rolling and keep doing it for several days in a row.

There's always going to be a day of weakness. Of overload. Where it's all too much. Outside forces can push you down, and you'll be fighting more than just the Something.

But today, you've won.