Here I am, lying in bed, unable to muster the energy to get up. The effort it took just to roll over and grab my laptop feels monumental. In fact, I’ve spent 18 of the past 24 hours cocooned in blankets, staring blankly at the wall. I drift in and out of sleep, grappling with my racing thoughts while my body remains anchored to the bed. It’s been four days since I last showered.
I live with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and panic disorder. Some days, this is simply how life unfolds.
When I engage in conversations, I often try to be candid. For instance, if someone asks me, “How’s your week going?” I might respond, “Oh, it’s fine. I spent the whole day in bed yesterday; I just couldn’t get up.” Typically, I’m met with a response like, “Oh man! I’m so jealous! You’re so lucky! I wish I could do that, but I have work and other responsibilities.” This reaction is incredibly frustrating for me. Trust me—I didn’t want to be in bed all day, nor did I enjoy it.
The truth is, spending all day in bed is not a pleasure for me; it’s a struggle. Sure, on good days when my mind is clear, I might relish a lazy day. But today is not that day.
Every part of me aches. It feels like there are heavy weights tethering me to the mattress, making even the simplest tasks feel monumental. The thought of getting up fills me with anxiety. Washing the dishes from last night? That feels like an insurmountable challenge. Brushing my teeth? Not happening.
I feel weak—so weak—because I know I should be able to complete trivial tasks like doing the dishes or brushing my teeth. Shame washes over me as I realize it’s 7 p.m., and I’m still in bed.
I remind myself that I’m stronger than this. I have to be, right? But today, depression and anxiety are in charge. Today, I’m unable to fight back.
Guilt creeps in because I know I shouldn’t be spending my time like this. I feel bad about unanswered texts and canceled plans. Earlier today, I called in sick to work just 15 minutes before my shift was scheduled to start. I fought against my better judgment. I told my manager I was sick with a fever and nausea. The truth is, my mind is the source of my illness today. But it’s not socially acceptable to say that.
I was supposed to hit the gym and reconnect with a friend I haven’t seen in ages. Instead, I sent a text that read: “Hey, I can’t make it today. I’ve been sick and stuck in bed.” It’s disheartening to cancel plans.
Inside my mind, I wage a battle. I tell myself that I will be okay, yet the shame and guilt serve as demons, convincing me that I’m not enough. They shout at me that I’m a bad employee and friend. They remind me that I can’t even get out of bed. This only makes it harder to rise.
It may appear that I’m not fighting—that I’m weak today. But in those fleeting moments when I can silence the negative voices, I know I am strong. I am fighting. I hold onto hope for a brighter tomorrow.
So please, don’t express envy over my day spent in bed. This experience is not one I would wish upon anyone.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the personal experience of struggling with mental health issues, particularly how spending a day in bed is not a luxury but a battle against depression and anxiety. It highlights the misunderstandings that often arise when people express envy over such situations, emphasizing the internal struggles that accompany these moments.