Clean Kitchen

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.

I giggle.

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.

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