Quarter to three in the afternoon and the depressive sits in her pyjamas, unshowered, teeth uncleaned.
She has managed to eat and hates the simple inadequacy illustrated by having to use the verb “managed”. However, the porridge was at once burnt and cold and her lunch-time vegetables were undercooked. She eats for no other reason than something to do. She is not hungry and doesn’t taste her food. And now her full belly just gives her another reason to hate herself; another day when the weight will not come off. Comfort eating without the comfort.
Her main achievement today has been crying an impressive number of tears for no concrete reason. That, and not adding physical hurt to the emotional.
Her neck and shoulders are tight and sore; her head aches and the skin around her eyes is dry and taut even as the tears well and flow.
She opens up internet tabs to distract. The news is overwhelming, anger-inducing, heart-breaking and she wishes she could do something. There is a surge of hope – I could protest, I could write a letter, I could campaign, I could volunteer, I’ll re-train and switch jobs and help people – and then the bubble is burst as she looks down at her flabby, grubby, pyjama-clad body and realises that someone who can’t even summon up enough enthusiasm to get dressed is never going to do any good in the world.
She is not an idiot. She knows that if she could just get going there’s a chance she could swing the day around at least into neutrality if not into positivity but the will is there, the way isn’t. She understands how people can look at her with exasperation and bemusement and impatience because she looks at herself that way.
Shame, anger, inadequacy, disappointment, sadness, hopelessness, pointlessness, worthlessness – the negatives grow with each day like this and the positives disappear over the horizon, forgotten and mythical. Here be dragons, here be joy, here be fun, here be laughter, here be love, here be hope.