Morning Blues

Here’s a passage/random stream of thoughts/poem from April 2016, from when I was feeling the worst and started getting help for depression.  I don’t feel as bad about mornings nowadays, or if I do I’m a lot more kind to myself. 

Don’t worry, I’m feeling great at the moment!   I wanted to share this in case anyone else is struggling from difficult mornings, or battling with depression.  My heart and thoughts are with you.

I can’t get up in the morning.

Each morning brings a huge battle of will between my brain and body.
My soul feels crushed between the sheets.
The day ahead looms like a dark pit before me.
As minutes turn into an hour – a precious hour of oblivion where I don’t need to think…

I suddenly awake through some internal clock and groan when I see the time.

I force my limbs to move and kick my butt out of bed.
The morning stuck in bed is the worst time of my day.
The bed always feels like it will swallow me whole
envelope me in its sickly warm embrace.

I think about all the work I’ll need to do that day
meetings and training
friendly greetings with a fake smile
standups I force myself to participate in.
Questions will wash over me with its demands, stress and requirements and never ending interruptions that will distract me at every opportunity.

I don’t start any work as I know I will be interrupted,
and as I am interrupted I breathe a sigh of relief  –
that I do not have to start work just yet
a legit task has appeared before me.

I feel like a fake every time I open my mouth.
Words spill out to fill the space and cover my uncertainty.
I wish I could disappear.
I wish I could just stop and do nothing for days.
But I know if I do my joints will start aching, and then I’ll need to stretch, and I’ll need to make supper and clean clothes and feed the cats….

As I start moving through the day my joints feel looser and less painful, and at the same time my day seems more bearable and life not as insurmountable as it was.

I manage a few genuine smiles.
The antidepressants kick in perhaps.
Or maybe just the caffeine.

At the end of the day I feel happier but still scorn the time wasted that day –
being endlessly busy yet getting nothing done.
At home I escape into the internet,
reading article after article in an attempt to actually do something.

Hours pass and I haven’t done anything.

I don’t remember what I’ve read – it’s not important.

I drop into bed exhausted, wishing I had done so earlier,
and dreading the morning darkness one more time.

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