Every time a depressive episode rolls in, it’s like my brain receives a memo I somehow missed. "Hey, for the next few days (or weeks, who’s counting?), here’s a fun new challenge: functioning like a normal human will now be optional. Good luck!" And trust me, this "Can't-Do" list is impressively thorough.
First off, hygiene. That simple, refreshing act of taking a shower? Yeah, suddenly, the mere thought of water touching my skin feels like someone just handed me a task equivalent to scaling Mount Everest. I turn into a cat sensing an incoming vet appointment—backing away slowly, wide-eyed, calculating every possible escape route. And don’t even get me started on brushing my hair. At this point, my tangled mess could host a small bird sanctuary, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame them for moving in.
Eating? Oh, you mean that thing where people consume food to stay alive? Sounds fake, but okay. I stare at my fridge like it’s some ancient artifact, wondering how I ever had the energy to cook an actual meal. The kitchen? A distant, unfamiliar land. Do I have food in there? Probably. Will I check? Unlikely. Suddenly, existing on half a granola bar and vibes seems perfectly reasonable.
Going outside? Ah yes, that bright thing in the sky people call the sun. What’s that like again? I wouldn’t know, because my body has decided that my bed and I are in an unbreakable long-term relationship. We are thriving in our commitment, thank you very much. The outside world? That’s for people who aren’t currently questioning the meaning of existence while wrapped up in three blankets at 2 PM.
Speaking of social interaction, replying to messages feels like deciphering ancient scripture. Someone texts, "Hey, how are you?" and my brain short-circuits. How am I? Who knows. It could take me anywhere from 30 seconds to three business weeks to figure out an answer. And even when I do, the act of actually typing and pressing send? Absolutely exhausting.
Meanwhile, my plants are suffering. I started this journey as a proud plant parent. Now, they’re one missed watering away from filing an official complaint. Every time I pass by them, I swear I hear, "This is a cry for help."
And the TV remote? It's always just slightly out of reach. Not dramatically far, just enough to make me contemplate whether I want to move or accept my fate. Guess I’m watching whatever channel is already on.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not sharing this to throw a pity party (though, if there were snacks, I might reconsider). I’m sharing it because I know I’m not the only one who’s been here. And while it’s easy to joke about, the truth is, some days just feel like too much.
But here’s the thing: it passes. It always does.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, I find myself laughing at something stupid, stepping outside for fresh air, or—dare I say it—taking that much-dreaded shower and realizing I actually feel better. The small wins start to add up.
So, if you're in the thick of it, if you're staring at your own “Can’t-Do” list, please know that it’s okay. You’re not broken. You’re not failing. You’re just having a tough time, and tough times don’t last forever.
One day, you’ll wake up, and the weight won’t feel as heavy. Until then, be gentle with yourself. Take small steps. And if all you managed to do today was exist? That’s enough.
(And maybe—just maybe—water your plants. They’re begging you.)
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