Depression is hard, like, really, really hard. For me it is the worst part of being beautifully bipolar. You’ve seen the commercials or read the pamphlets that tell you that one of the signs of depression is loss of interest in usually pleasurable activities. Let me tell you, folks, that ain’t no joke. I have the motivation to do absolutely nothing. I don’t want to watch television or a movie. I don’t want to read. I don’t care if I see friends. I don’t want to put on makeup. I don’t want to do diddly.
Writing becomes a million times harder. Creative ideas elude me. I am listless.
All I really want to do, what I want to do right this moment, is crawl in bed and go to sleep. Depression is exhausting. It seriously manifests itself in physical form. I sleep in – I’m tired. I take naps – I’m tired.
And that thing about not caring to see friends, why would I want to do that when I know it requires leaving the house, leaving my bed? Plus who wants to be around Debbie Downer or at least that’s how I feel. It isn’t that I don’t care about them. I just can’t scrounge up the energy.
I am depressed now, it was brought on by my break-up, I know that, but fuck if it isn’t hard.
Image courtesy of jesadaphorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net