Too Much Trouble

The grayed out skies and cold rain seemed to fit me like a glove.  I could feel a black mood settle over and around me, gnawing at  my edges.  It was cold and not just cold but cold like sweat.  The pile of blankets did no good - the back of my neck was unpleasantly damp and chilly - and even the room seemed to be cave-like. Time passed in uncomfortable segments of just-below-the-surface sleep with nasty dreams.  I felt pointless. I pulled on more clothes, rammed the thermostat to 75 then 80, moved to the living room with the portable heater and dug out more blankets.  All it got me was damp hair and a headache.  The little dachshund lay by my side, restless and concerned and watching me closely.

The rain stopped sometime during the night.  I smoked, took a long, hot shower, smoked some more, let the dogs out and in, watched for the sky to lighten, slept and woke, slept and woke.  By seven, it was almost light and finally warm enough to move around but everything was too much trouble.

My cigarettes are within easy reach but it's too much trouble.

The kitten asleep on my chest is movable but it's too much trouble.

The thought of showering and dressing is far too much trouble.

It's all, I realize dully, too much trouble.  I feel weighted down, gray, lost.  Gradually I begin to understand that I've somehow slipped into a dark place.  I haven't heard a human voice in three days and am feeling faintly sick.  The aloneness is crushing but I haven't the energy or inclination to move.  The whole house has a sick room feel to it and it's worked its way into my soul.
  
I think of depression as a small place, airless, dark and suffocatingly quiet.  It sucks the life out of you, steals the need for people and conversation away, and it's always disagreeably cold.  Nothing seems worth the effort.
You're dimly aware of being hungry, dimly aware that a shampoo and shower and change of clothes might make a difference, dimly aware that aspirin might ease the headache.  But everything you reach for is too far away - easier and quicker to close your eyes and burrow into darkness - you suspect that all the good is gone. Troubled thoughts swirl behind your eyes, a lifetime of shelved and put off worry, fear and despair join forces and when you open your eyes you're surrounded.  Even if you wanted to, there's no place to break through.

There might be a moment when you think about asking for help.  But in the time it takes to think about it, it's gone.  No one wants to admit to these feelings.


And then the sun breaks through and as it does, my spirits rise and I find my voice again.