Depression is a disease that makes you feel ashamed just as part of its symptoms. Doing things, everyday things like dishes, cleaning, laundry, can just be beyond me. I feel lazy and useless and I fight with myself and maybe win a minor victory. Today I put the leftover spaghetti sauce in a Ziploc and put it in the basement freezer. I put the ice cream maker bowl down there, too, to make room in the freezer upstairs. I got my clothes out of the dryer and put them in a basket. I put in a load of whites that had been sitting down there a long time. I brought the clean clothes upstairs. I gave Lord his meds and fed the cats. I put the dishes in the drainer away. I fed myself a real dinner.
There was a point today where giving Lord his meds, feeding the cats, and putting some sort of junk in my tummy would be as much as I could manage. So fighting through and doing some things on my to-do list felt like a victory. And then I could do no more. The migraine almost felt like a relief–I had an excuse for being useless that my mind would accept. I reflect on this evening’s struggle to keep from curling up in a ball in bed and it occurs to me that there are people for whom these things are not a struggle. They just come home from work and do the chores and answer their emails and listen to their voicemail and open the mail without a second thought. I try to remember a time when I felt like that. There was a time. There still are to some degree. But most often I go back and forth in my head a hundred times, making a plan, paring it down, throwing it out, and then maybe doing some things. I tell myself, “just do another task, and then one more. Keep going. Fight.” I may win a skirmish in this hour, or maybe the next one. But I’m just so sick and tired of the War.