What Happens When Nothing Happens? A Day With Crippling Depression

 

 

 

As I get out of bed, I realize that my legs belong to somebody else. It’s the other one, whose voice is always louder and who seems to enjoy pressing her weight against my open chest.

 

“What’s this?”

“It’s just a new day. Another one. Get up!”

 

Be funny. Think of a joke. That will make both of you relax and maybe feel ok with brushing your teeth.

 

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday who?”

“Yesterday you survived.”

 

A weird sound makes its way through my brain waves, distracting the Kraken of thoughts that gets released every day at open-eye sharp.

 

It’s the outside world. Where I don’t belong anymore. Did I ever? Does anyone?

 

I see a mirror. I must be in the bathroom. It took me 34 self insults, 12 moments of self doubt and 2 Why do I still exist? to get here. The Ghost of Habits Past whispers I should now move my arms and fingers. The whisper is so gentle among the loud trumpets of aggressive self deprecation. I’m burning a significant amount of calories to distinguish it.

 

“More stress, fat-less.”

Another joke. Bravo.

 

I’m exhausted. Do I really need food? I wish I didn’t. Actually, I don’t. Done.

Grab the phone and take a peek through the social media mirror to see how all the others you know ran a marathon, got engaged, had triplets, wrote a novel, helped the poor, saved a puppy from drowning, launched a new business, won a Pulitzer and still found the time to write a mini-essay post about how to challenge your inner demons and become a better person. And all of that while you were sleeping in, in your bed of disappointment. Well, yeah. You’d better cry. What else is there to do?

 

Some hours pass. In blackout. My non-grumbling stomach lets me know that sometime in these last few hours food was provided.

Most likely that was the bright idea of my stubborn man-friend, who keeps on bullying me into surviving. He just doesn’t get it. There’s nothing there. Here. Anywhere. It’s all pointless, can’t he just see?

 

“A skeleton walks into a bar: can I have a beer and a mop?”

A joke about shallowness. How quaint.

 

I can hear the moon. Darkness is close by. The night suits me. It brings the gift of eyes wide shut. It makes my own darkness socially acceptable. I smile loudly. Those are the first 2,4 seconds of kindness expressed today. Followed by 5,03 minutes of painful piercing sorrow. Tears are lava, but I’m no mountain.

I feel energy. It’s not mine, it’s his. His hand is comforting my thigh and that brings warmth. But he still doesn’t get it. How could he?

I know the battle is almost over, as my muscles begin to become softer and softer, like spaghetti in boiling water. I’ve made it. Because what would that do to them, if I couldn’t make it anymore? A heavy burden on their shoulders, a most horrid existence. All because of me. No, I can’t do that to them.

 

“What about you?”

“Just shut up. You are too weak. You’re nobody.

I’ll make sure we both learn that again tomorrow.”

 

And maybe even the day after tomorrow.