Share:
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)
- Click to print (Opens in new window)
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
It can be just as bad when you can make yourself go, but know that the effort will leave you so much more tired and stressed than you are right now. And while a 90minute sunny train ride [because your doc moved and you haven’t been able to find a new one you feel you can trust yet] can sometimes be invigorating, at the end of the day you are still drained and wondering how many of tomorrow’s spoons you’ve stolen.
Thank you for doing these, Clay.
I have done the same but trying to get up for work. Sometimes your brain just says Nope, you’re not going anywhere today.
Almost every day is like that for me.
I remember this. “Okay, on three…”
“……”
“Blah.”
The scariest day of my life was when, after hundreds of similar attempts to get out of bed, and hours of failing at it, I realized I could not get out of bed by myself. I couldn’t even force myself to move. It was horrifying. I had to get my roommates to literally, physically pull me out of bed before I could even start to move. It wasn’t a physical failing, I just did not have the willpower to move.
I tried to get out of bed using the Kill Bill method: first wiggle your toes. It actually worked (didn’t took thirteen hours, but still quite some time)
I suspect that some non-depressed folks think this is a joke, or a myth, but we know it’s utterly real. Some days I mark as accomplished even if all I managed to do was buy oranges, even if the rest of the day was hysterical crying or frozen staring.
Strangely enough the lack of volition helped me recover. When my depression got really bad I was be unable to act, which meant I couldn’t kill myself. It was a sort of safety net. I knew that the depression couldn’t win in the end, and that made it easier to stop thinking about dying all the time.
The worst part comes later too, when you start avoiding the call from your worried therapist because you just can’t deal with it.