Posted in Pondering about PTSD

When Your Bed Is The Only Safe Place During Depression 

Two months have gone by as I enter yet another week waiting for job interviews and call backs for job offers to come in. Which leaves me in the house all day, and most recently, bedridden.

The last few weeks of job rejection notices and bills piling up have led to me refusing to leave the confines of my bed, spending the days asleep and my nights binge watching random YouTube videos and playing The Sims on my phone. 

Sounds fun, right?

My friend moved in with me for a few weeks while he is working a local Halloween haunt at a  theme park a few blocks down the road. He offered to help me with bills and food as rent until things get straightened out. Although I am thankful for him here, it makes me feel even more useless since I can’t “adult” like I used to.It’s as if I slipped into the deep dark almost child like state from the world of happiness and success. 

Each day is a struggle just to get up for a few minutes and do a chore or two, the simplest successes are things normal minded people take for granted. The thought of going out scares me for reasons unknown. Even therapy has been abandoned in favor of sleep in the comfort of my own apartment.

My bed has become my prison, aside from my bestie who tries to swing by once a week to give me some much needed “rec time” to clear my mind. And the results are often short lived.

It’s hard to explain the feeling depression has when it swallows your mind whole, as if everything shuts down. Your rational mind, your basic daily  goals, even your emotions. I actually find it hard to cry now. It’s weird to say the least. 

But I can’t fathom how something as simple as getting out of bed can turn into a Herculean task. And this is coming from an otherwise able bodied, mostly healthy adult. 

I had a few people joke around at how good I have it since I don’t work right now. They have it all wrong. I miss having a purpose in life, to go out each day and interact with people without fear, to be able to hang out with my friends with my own money paying the bill, to just be happy again. 

I know this pain is temporary, seeing the light at the end of this tunnel is coming up soon with job leads slowly processing, but there goes that brain of mine shutting my thoughts and my body down, bit by bit. 

So when you think being bedridden from mental illness  seems better than real life, think again. I wouldn’t wish this upon my worst enemy. Life is worth living, but not like this. 

At least my bed can’t hurt me like the world can. 


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