Home > depression, mental health > Well, at least I’m out of bed…

Well, at least I’m out of bed…

The black dog is back. It never really goes away but sometimes it just sits there with a baleful glare in its eyes; other times it bites. I have the tooth marks to prove it.

Try and explain how an illness that isn’t physical can keep you plastered to your bed for days at a time. I can’t, it sounds stupid to me so how will others hear it? Unable to sleep, unable to read, unable to even listen to the radio.

Try and explain how a 6’2″ lump of humanity can barely cope with sitting in a GP’s waiting room. How each movement and noise brings a internal response screaming “GET OUT! GET AWAY! GET SAFE!”.

Try and explain how self imposed imprisonment in a room for weeks is preferable to fresh air and the company of friends.

Safety is key, and the room is safe. The duvet is wrapped around you like the depression itself but nothing can touch you there.

Good times with friends are missed and the regret is there but it’s outweighed by being safe.

As I type this I’m out of bed. Admittedly *on* it, or sprawled across it, hanging off one end bashing away at this keyboard. But it’s progress, right? For today.

This is a bad time, the worst of times. Again. It will pass, I know that. The frustration at knowing things but not being able to act is huge. But still, hang on to the knowledge. You have not been subsumed by the black dog.

Inspired a bit to put thoughts to cyberspace by an excellent piece which I heartily recommend you click through to:

21 tips to keep your shit together when you’re depressed

Categories: depression, mental health
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