Member-only story
Hell, yeah
Find what inspires you, and say yes to life
I get depressed sometimes, but like a functional alcoholic who keeps going to work until one day they’re whisked from their home in an ambulance feebly insisting it was their pain meds that pushed their liver to the brink, I do okay. I soldier on — mostly keep the house clean, mostly keep the fridge stocked, mostly eat okay. Mostly pay the bills on time. I even walk my beloved 13-year-old retriever daily.
The thing is, though, there’s little pep in my step, if you will. In fact, I’m sort of grouchy, but it seems most people can’t tell because they still greet me and approach me. Strangers often stop to pet Daisy and exclaim how beautiful she is. They offer treats. I smile and nod and play the enthusiastic… whatever. Neighbor? Middle-aged lady? The smile on my face feels frozen and lop-sided, but it doesn’t seem to transmit. No one shrinks back in shock or casts a sidelong glance, that I’m aware of.
Apparently, I go through the motions pretty well. So well in fact, that after months and months of this, I’ve even fooled myself. As I lie in bed of a morning wondering how I will ever get up, I think, maybe this is just how it is now. How it will be every day until the end of my life, each day harder to get out of bed. Often, I simply turn over and sleep another hour, whether I need it or not.
