Saturday was a bit of a better day because I was preoccupied and in the sun.
Sunday was the exact opposite. Sunday was the definition of depression. I literally laid curled up in my bed ALL day in a tank top and panties. I couldn’t be bothered with clothes or pajamas. Expanding my lungs to breathe seemed so very hard. The only thing that roused me was caring for my dog and taking my medication. And I was gross. Saturday had been a long sweaty day at the peach festival yet the impossibility of taking a shower hung over me like a task too insurmountable. So there I was – greasy, gross, and loathing life.
But all I can say about moments or days or weeks or however long it takes, give yourself time to self soothe. Allow that time in bed. Allow the silence. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, but it is also okay to just rest.
Martin, E. (2017). Sunday’s Depression. Psych Central. Retrieved on February 25, 2018, from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/being-bipolar/2017/07/18/sundays-depression/