Depression doesn’t care what day it is, what time it is, where you are or who you’re with. When depression decides to drop by, a seemingly normal day can be flipped on its head.
I’d had a great weekend: I’d been productive, I’d gone out shopping, watched a film at the cinema, and spent quality time with family. I’d woken up the following Monday morning with a spring in my step, ready for the week ahead. Monday morning started well, but when the work began piling up, and it felt like more and more people were getting on my nerves, I began to withdraw and feel isolated. I muddled through the rest of my day, eager to go home.
‘It’s okay, just a one off’ I thought to myself – did I really believe that? I retreated to my bedroom after work, my one safe space. Alone, determined to get something out in writing, to salvage what I had left of the day and not feel like it was all a waste. I managed a paragraph. There was no other way to describe it, I just felt low. I didn’t feel like myself. Instead of trying to force a positive day, it would be best to call it a night and try again tomorrow.
I slept from 8pm to 5:30am (When my pug is awake, we’re all expected to be awake), and I felt no better, like I hadn’t slept at all, what was the point in an early night? I barely moved when I woke up, feeling like an extension of the bed, like I physically couldn’t get up. I’d planned to knock a few things off my to-do list that morning; to try and get me in the right frame of mind for the day ahead, but I just laid there; I laid there until I really couldn’t lay there a minute longer without being late for work.
The same empty numbness washed over me once again when I had barely parked my car. I didn’t want to be here at all. Time seemed slower than it was yesterday, painfully slow. By 10am, after working for an hour and a half, I was ready to go home. I wanted to get out of the office more than anything; to stop hearing mindless chatter buzzing around the room, to literally be as isolated as I felt in my mind. I could have curled into a ball and cried. Typing this up now 8 hours later: I still feel like I could cry.
I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to stop it. It feels like my depression has been watching from the sidelines, waiting for the perfect moment to send me backwards. I’ve been taking my medication, I’ve been spending my time wisely, it’s a beautiful day today: Why am I not happy?