My day is made up of dozens of tiny bargains. I will get up after I hit snooze once more, I can go back to bed as long as I take my tablet. I can sit on the couch for an hour more as long as I then eat a healthy meal. I will do some exercise after I’ve finished knitting this row. I will go to work and use my brain for something other than thinking about how everyone I love is going to leave me.
I bargain with my depression, I give it a little bit. I let it win every so often so that I can keep on moving, so that I can feel like I’m the one in charge. Then, I give in and let it win, I stay in bed for 14 hours and don’t fight it. I don’t feel better at the end of this, just a little less exhausted. I haven’t had to fight it for a few hours and it feels better.
Depression is not a black dog, it’s not a loyal servant by your side. It’s a parasite, it’s thick tar, it’s quicksand, it’s a fog that obscures the sun.
Depression is a terminal illness that doesn’t care if it destroys its host. That’s its goal. It exists to kill, to take everything you need to feel and hope and makes everything look the same washed out grey.
It is a fight within myself every single day. It has the ability to take over in an instant and all I have is a tiny arsenal to fight it with.
The tablets help me to care that I don’t want to do anything, they take away the apathy and make me aware of how much nothing I’m feeling. They don’t always have the ability to make me want to do anything about sleeping for 14 hours but they help.
Most of it is up to me. I have to be responsible for exercising my body and my mind, for eating nutritious meals, for reducing my alcohol intake and for being around people who know how to be there without trying to fix it.
I know that each time I have a bad day, or week or month I get a bit better at handling it. That doesn’t make it any less tiring.
