By: Jess Griggs
It took me two and a half hours to get out of bed today.
I woke up in a cold sweat at 4:59 am and continued to lie under my blankets with my pillow over my face until the alarm went off at 6:30 am, at which point, my husband got out of bed, made coffee, got dressed, fed the cat, read the news, and watched three youtube tutorials.
I, however, barely managed to roll over on my back. This feat of human strength was only made possible by the fact that my foot had a cramp in it and my bladder was about to burst, so repositioning was necessary to maximize the amount of time I was physically able to stay in bed. On my back, with less pressure on my bladder, I could stay an extra five minutes. Ten, if I was really in a gambling mood.
When I finally made the excruciating decision to get out of bed it was 7:30. Luckily, I have a job with flex hours. I think the official rule on attendance is, “Eh, as long as you get your stuff done and get some facetime in with the key players, you’re good to go.” God bless online companies.
The fog had somewhat cleared by the time I made it to my bus stop at 8:45. I felt like such a lazy turd. Why can’t I just get it together? I ran through the morning in my head, and I honestly don’t think I could have moved any faster or gotten out of bed any sooner than I did. Some mornings I just straight up procrastinate and hit the snooze. But today was different. I remember Doug gently nudging me a few times to wake me up (or to make sure I was still alive), and I just snapped.
“I hear you. I see you. I just can’t move. So can you just stop it?”
I heard myself say these things and I remember feeling like a jerk but even the force of guilt could not push the covers off. Instead, it just added more weight to the boulder sitting on my chest.
Once I was on the bus things almost felt normal. I thought about my work day, planned certain projects, listened to music, and generally did a pretty good job of blending in with the rest of humanity. I texted a few friends and even used emojis so they would know I’m ok – today is a good day.
In the office, I managed to talk to a few co-workers without panicking or forgetting what to do with my hands or turning around and running into a wall (yes, all of these things have happened while trying to either make or avoid small talk). I went to coffee with a friend, replied to emails, and did research for an article. You’re doing it! You’re normal! This morning was just a fluke! You’re fine! I tell myself. You’re fine. It becomes my mantra.
But, now it’s 1:15 pm and I’m completely spent. I have no energy left to focus on work, I cannot fathom holding a conversation with another human. My body aches. Each limb weighs 200 pounds and it has become entirely too much to support it all. My anxiety is skyrocketing. For no reason, in particular, my heart is pounding out of my chest.
I have a standing invitation to eat lunch with few co-workers and because I care so cripplingly much about how they perceive me, I feel like I can’t ever say, “I really just can’t handle looking at your face right now, or being in a room where the sound of chairs scraping the floor makes me want to crawl out of my skin, or sitting under fluorescent lights that penetrate my eyeballs and burn my brain. It’s not you, it’s me.” So I lied and said I had a meeting over lunch and now I’m hiding under the escalators in the lobby of my building scribbling this all down in a notebook so I can potentially post it on the blog later.
And this has been a pretty typical day for me these last few months. It’s not always this extreme. Sometimes I only spend 45 minutes in bed, and I make it until 2 pm before I need to find a corner to hide in. And other days I call in and work from home because I really, truly, cannot get out of bed until noon.
I have yet to spend an entire day in bed. Honestly… I’m afraid that if I do, I’d never get out. So it’s not an option. Not right now. I’ll keep you posted.
I suppose it’s time to head back upstairs. I’ve freaked out enough people just sitting here behind the escalators. If I were the pranking type, this would be a prime spot. #maybeoneday #goals
*****
I shared this journal entry to give a little glimpse into what the actual day to day looks like for me right now. It looks different for everyone. I think a lot of people assume people with depression are just crying all the time or walk around in their pajamas and matted down hair (and to be fair, I have done both of those things. In public. Recently.) But more often than not, people with depression don’t really show it. That’s part of the stigma – “You don’t look sick,” etc. If you’re reading this today and you know someone who says they are wrestling with depression, all you have to do is listen. You don’t have to give advice, and you certainly shouldn’t try to convince someone that they’re fine. That’s probably what they try to tell themselves too. Just let them know you’re there and you see them.