This is a Really Real Mental Health Post
This morning I woke up to a clean kitchen.
Last night I went to bed with my brain still spinning.
The white hum of thoughts, death, and pills and quiet so loud I could hear it.
I never did eat dinner.
The depression is so thick I feel like I’m pushing through it with every movement I take and getting out of bed this morning was a three hour process.
Three hours of arguing with myself to take that first step out of bed.
My dog whining because she knew I was awake and she wanted to go out.
Then I stood in the bathroom convincing myself that I could do the next step in my routine. Brush my teeth. The smallest amount of movement needed seemed like scaling a building. I argued with my own brain about how necessary it really was. Could I just get away with some mouthwash or chewing some gum. In the end I won and my teeth got brushed but holy shit, should I have to fight for 5 minutes just to get a toothbrush out of a fucking cabinet.
Taking the dog out and impatiently waiting, feeling the impatience curl in my lungs when she needs to sniff every. . . fucking . . .thing. It’s cold and I want to be inside in my bed, but there are things to be done today and I don’t want to be a failure so I wait for the dog to sniff all of the things and then we go inside.
I get to the kitchen, lost in my own world, making up her food for the morning, and when I go to soak her fork I realize the sink is empty. The dinner dishes are washed. I blink and look around. The kitchen is clean.
I smile for the first time in over 12 hours.
This was outside of the routine.
It took me out of my head long enough to look around and take a deep breath.
It was a gift I didn’t even know I needed.
The depression is still there. I still haven’t eaten breakfast. Things are still both quiet and loud all at the same time. I’m still beating myself up and it’s dark in there.
But for a minute I was able to take a breath.
I really do love her.