Sunday Scaries

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.

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