My goal with this book is to describe depression–the infernal damnable beast that climbs atop my back and keeps driving me face first into black misery. And though I hate like the devil to admit it, the best way to describe depression is to do so during the worst throes of it.
This past week was a great example of what I call a “low time” for me. I spent a lot of time in my bed … partly out of fatigue and partly out of boredom. Some things that were going through my head were:
“Does the dog really have to be fed today?”
“How am I ever going to make it through today?”
“Why don’t I want to do the things I was so psyched about doing just last week?”
“I thought I was past this…”
“Should I get some new treatments?”
“I really should wash those dishes…and pick up that dirty laundry, and open that pile of mail, and pay those bills…”
“If I go to the gym, will I make it through a workout or have to drag myself around the machines? Will I even make it out of there without crying if I start?”
“I wonder if I should shower today.”
“I used to care what I look like. Maybe if I shave my legs and put on some clean clothes and makeup I will feel better.”
“I really need that therapist session today.”
“I need some new goals.”
“Why should I get out of bed? My body aches and I don’t know what I’ll do to fill the time if I am awake.”
One especially nasty day found me rolling up to work, sitting in my SUV on a gray, snow-plastered morning asking God, “How am I going to make it through this day?” I sat at my desk at work, dreading quitting time for all its damned loneliness.
Even the smiling, happy face of my yellow Labrador retriever wouldn’t wash it all away. He was just one more thing I needed to take care of before I could fall into bed and into oblivion.