Depression: I stopped making my bed...

I stopped making my bed...



Depression.

An old friend. Sometimes she visits when I expect her to. A situation may call for her and she’ll be there, faithfully by my side. And I’m okay that.

Then there’s the times when I’m feeling okay for the most part. Everything is as well as to be expected. I’m not having a horrible day, but then I can’t quite peg why it’s not necessarily a good day either. I call it a funk. But it’s her. She’s there. Depression.

I can’t answer why. She’s just there. Doesn’t even knock to come in. She just walks through the door. Most times, I don’t even hear her come in. She’s pretty sly.

But when she does come, she’s the only company I can handle. There’s the lucky lucky few that can dwell in my bubble when she’s with me. The words that go through my mind when she’s around are:

Small. Burden. Unworthy. Unloved. Despair. Alone. Out of Control. Ghost. Unable. Cold. Numb. Self-directed anger. Anxiety. Conspiracies. Forgotten. 

The other night I went to bed fully aware I was depressed. Then in my despair, I noticed my blankets. I then realized it had been so many days since I stopped making my bed. It snuck up on me. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal. For the most part it IS truly a small thing. But what it translated to me was that little red flag that she was stepping over that threshold from my mind (something I can't control) to my heart (something I'm able to control better). A while ago, I started making my bed. It became a goal, that thing in the morning I could do. No matter my pain or fatigue, I could make my bed. It gave me that little piece of my humanity back; to get me through the day. So when I went back to bed completely drained and in pain, fatigued or feeling horrible and defeated (no matter the time of day), my bed was still made. I had done that with my own hands. “Kailan was here,” it whispers to me. And it comforts me.

So when I realized my bed had been neglected, I resolved to make sure that I make my bed in the morning. And I did. I took that piece back.

It doesn’t make the depression go away. She’s much too stubborn, I can't stop her from coming. But she understands she is not wanted. 

And that’s where I want her.