A Day in the Mind of the Depressed

A usual morning for me when I’m depressed doesn’t actually exist. Because when I’m depressed I can’t drag myself out of bed until well past noon when the sun is already half way through the sky and the ice from the winter freeze that once covered the yards of the neighborhood have melted into an afternoon dew.

I try to keep a routine but things like brushing my teeth and washing my face or even applying deodorant seem to hold little importance especially since my only appointment for the day is with my bed whose sheets haven’t been changed in 2 weeks.

I try to muster some energy by making a cup of coffee but I break the cup when it slips from my hand and smashes on the floor. Funny, I didn’t even remember holding it in my haze.

Abandoning my attempt at accomplishing anything today I head back to bed. It suddenly seeming like the safest, most tempting place I could be in the moment and I’m willing to do anything to escape the daze that covers my mind like the smog that surrounds the city of San Francisco.

Then with terror I rise as I steal a glance at the clock and realize that I’m late for therapy. Something that should be a priority but with my mindset it’s not. I jump from bed and pull a jacket on. Not taking the time to change my shirt that sports a red stain from the salsa I had last night. My attempt at a “normal” meal.

AS I rush into my therapist office, 20 minutes late I realize what a mess I must look like. With greasy, unkempt hair and wrinkled clothes I am a shell of what I can be.

And I lie. Why I don’t know. Why would I lie to a person that already knows me more than most? Who has watched me cry and seen my scars. Is it because I’m paying her? Is it because I fear that I am just another client? One that fades from her mind as soon as I exit the parking lot?

The true reason is lost to me and I fabricate some pathetic lie about my alarm not going off. Even though we both know I never set it. The session consists of a lot questions and one worded answers because the truth is I’m too tired to care.

My body is heavy and my mind blanketed by a dark fog. It’s a miracle I was able to concentrate long enough to drive home without running a red light or hitting a tree. All I know is I’m going back to bed.

As soon as my feet enter my home by shoes are off and I bury myself under a tower of blankets. Secretly hoping that I might accidently suffocate underneath the weight of them.

My cat tries to wake me; did I remember to feed her today? But I push her aside and she eventually settles next to my head. Her purring the only thing keeping me present. Reminding me that yes, I am still alive at least until tomorrow.





About railynnt

This is my blog, a place where I can share my writing and journey through recovery, mental illness, and life.
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One Response to A Day in the Mind of the Depressed

  1. I love your writing.
    So raw.


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