There are so many things I could be doing right now. This thought is often on my mind while I lie in my bed for countless days in a row, occasionally scrolling through my phone but mostly staring at the wall. Sometimes I end up falling asleep if my mind lets me.
I could be cleaning. I haven’t really been putting things away and there are piles of stuff all over the house. Maybe I could go get my laptop and try and job hunt again or go to the gym and exercise. But I can’t bring myself to do anything.
It feels as though the depression I struggle with is a physical being that purposely keeps me from moving. People are trying to contact me. I should get back to them, but I can’t. I need to get up and make myself some food, but the thought of getting out of bed exhausts me. I can’t stop the voices in my mind that tell me there’s no point, anyway. That’s where the guilt sets in. The guilt of having depression.
How many hours have I wasted just lying here? What kind of things could I have done during all this time? Maybe I’d have a better job if I’d spent more time perfecting my CV. Maybe I would be in better physical shape if I’d been spending my time exercising instead of staring at the ceiling. I feel guilty for all of this wasted time.
I already have all these regrets caused by not doing anything and thinking about all the things I could have accomplished, had I not convinced myself it wasn’t worth it and just stayed in bed. The guilt is another physical being that holds me back. I feel bad for not being a “normal” person with a “normal” life. Instead, I just stare at the wall as the guilt eats away at me.
Nobody should be made to feel bad about having a mental illness, but I bring this guilt upon myself. It’s a vicious cycle that feels impossible to escape from. But then the depression sets in, adding to the list of things I can’t bring myself to do.