Yesterday I couldn’t get out of bed. Whoever came up with the phrase “we create our own happiness” or whoever believes happiness is a choice has clearly never suffered from depression and can go fuck himself (or maybe herself.. but let’s get real, the thought process is probably male influenced).
I have never not been able to get out of bed before. This was a new and horrifying experience for me. The weight of it alone took my breath away. So, I started to cry. I cried about the fuck boys. I cried about my life and feeling lost. Then dark thoughts overtook me.
I rolled over. Easier to fall back asleep.
Despite being up at 6:30, I managed to stay comfortably in the world of my bed until noon, when I forced myself up. I forced myself to go on a run. “Meditative” I told myself. But, I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My run turned into a walk and I cried for my run.
Why would someone choose pain? I don’t understand . My depression is not a choice.
My best friend and I got dinner last night. We talked about it and my mood lifted. This morning I woke up new, ready to tell off the fuck boys and take the day by the horn. I don’t choose my depression. I also don’t choose the days that my depression is at its worst.