It’s frocking cozy in my little pit of angst. There’s tons of fluffy pillows, fuzzy blankets, no one to see me cry … not much to complain about here.
And maybe that’s the problem with being depressed. Maybe it is too comfortable. Too easy to just stay in it. Too enjoyable to crawl out. Is that why our depressions last so long?
I’m just finding it quite difficult to pull out of my hole of funk. Despite the fact that I’m practically in tears 75% of the day, despite the fact that my hair is greasy and my body has a slight odor … SLIGHT … Despite the fact that I’m actually wearing sweat pants in the middle of the day AND walking out of my house in them to get the mail, and despite the fact that I’m lonelier than lonely and I swear no one even misses me … Despite all this, I still have no desire to get better.
In my hole I don’t have to confront anyone. No one can disappoint me, because I have no expectations whatsoever. I can’t lose anyone as I’ve pretty much gone into hiding anyhow. And we all know I’m not sharing my hiding spot. It’s mine. ALL MINE!!! (I might rent it out for the right price though … hmmmm???)
In my hole, I have no obligations. No deadlines. No responsibilities. All those things exist OUTSIDE the hole. I like them remaining out there.
In my hole, I can’t even disappoint myself because HELLLOOOO I’m totally succeeding in the art of depression! No worries about being a failure there.
In my hole, I don’t have to worry about who cares. I mean it’s nice when others do, but usually they are just trying to pull me out of my comfy cave anyways … so I’d prefer they not care.
In my hole, there is a tiny fracture of light peaking through a crack at the very edge of the wall. It looks pretty. Almost inviting. But at the same time, if I get too close it hurts my eyes. I like my eyes. And in my hole, I’ve got no worries about losing them to blinding lights.
It was recently that I came to adore this place. At first I was all trying to get out and feeling trapped by the gloom, but then I was like, “Meh … I think I’d rather just lie down and take a nap instead of wasting all the effort.”
I’m not lying either. That’s exactly how it all started. I got depressed out of no where for absolutely no reason and pretty much flipped out. I’m doing everything right damn it! Taking my meds, getting exercise, using my lights, etc. so why the hell can’t I stop these stupid depressions from sneaking up? I should be an expert at avoiding them by now! And so I fought and I fought and I fought. Guess where it got me? A one way ticket to hotel misery in the master suite they call the cave of nothingness.
And I’m still there today. But by now, I’ve let the nothingness spread throughout my body.
I’m nothing, I feel nothing, I care about nothing.
Nothing Nothing Nothing
And it’s cozy. Easy. Unemotional. Blissfully lonely.
For once I don’t care if other people have better reasons to be depressed. For once I don’t care who gets irritated with my depressedness. And for once I’ve decided not to put all my energy into fighting the depressedness … I never win anyway. Depressedness always wins. I’m pretty sure it cheats. And for once, I’m just gonna sit back and let it win.
Because maybe … just maybe … it will make it leave sooner than later. Maybe.
Now if only I could get rid of this sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach that keeps going between angry and meh and nauseous and aching. My stupid gut is keeping me from being happy about being sad. Go figure.
Every been in this cave? Ever just stopped caring whether or not you find your way out?
Cognitive Psychology tells me this will pass and I will eventually work through it. I’m going to ignore my cognitive brain for the remainder of today however and bask in my self defeating world of blah.
Maybe I’ll check out that crack in the wall tomorrow. Who knows, maybe the light won’t hurt after looking at it twice.