Saturday Blues

There’s are days when getting up and dressed seem a major achievement. I found clothes! I put them on and don’t look utterly stupid!

But then I feel stupid for congratulating myself over such a tiny thing. How can I be proud of myself, an adult, a parent, over getting myself up and dressed? 

I have to fight this feeling, because depression wants me. Its black tentacles are oozing sinuously closer, to grasp at my heart. I can’t promise I won’t let it; I’ve never been strong enough to fight it all the way off; no, strong is not the right word. I’m certainly not weak; competent? Capable? Knowledgeable? I don’t really know. I know it’s no failing of me or my brain or body that depression lurks constantly, a serpentine cephalopod of silence. It makes me silent; I don’t want to speak, or even sing some days.

When I stop singing, I know it’s bad. Some days tears roll down my face when I’m singing. I can cope with that. If the emotion is still there, I can cope. It’s when it drains away; that’s when I start to crumble.

So today I got dressed. Must remember it’s ok to clap myself on the back. Now I have to go get a parcel; see friends; cook and eat. Must remember to eat, and eat well. Slap away the tiny tentacles that sneakily steal these instructions from my mind: eat, sleep, wash, smile. Cope.

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8 Comments on “Saturday Blues

  1. So important to talk about this stuff. And yes, eat, and eat well, for both health and comfort, and rest when you need to and do what you can. It is enough. And there are definitely days when getting through is a triumph. I’m not sure how anyone who is paying attention can be carefree in this current environment.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It’s so easy to fall into habits of silence, especially when you start to minimise your own emotions. And yep, the world is pretty overwhelming at the moment. It’s good to remember that’s whatever we can manage is enough, thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. How I recognise this, Mabh. The days I start with an mental ‘to do’ list’ a mile long that feels utterly achievable at 8am, yet dwindles away with every hour that passes so that venturing out to Morrisons at 4pm feels like I’ve climbed a mountain. Not helped by (admittedly well-meaning) friends on social media who provide a running commentary of everything they’ve done that day, how many poems they’ve written, sent off for publication or competitions etc. etc. Let’s just celebrate the small things, eh? 🙂

    Like

  3. So helpful and good to read this. Some days it’s so easy to feel alone in this struggle. Thanks for sharing.

    Like

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