Depression is melancholy minus its charms- Susan Sontag
A mountain of clean laundry sits on the folding table in the basement. It’s been there for more than a week. It’s a simple process. Wash, dry, fold, repeat but I can’t find a groove. I’m lacking rhythm.
Instead, I stand there staring at it. I should fold it and put it away. I don’t because I don’t have it in me today, the same as the day before and maybe not tomorrow, either. I turn around, walk back up the stairs and plop myself on the couch. I combat the feeling of guilt by bullshitting myself. “I’ll get it done after I take this break.”
Laundry itself isn’t a difficult task. It’s the energy it requires that’s wearing on me. For a depressed person, life can be a difficult task. Moments that should ebb and flow hit a rock wall and I let them. I make no effort to stop it from happening.
I want to send you a text message. “Hi, I miss you!” I’d say. I think about sending it several times a day, but I don’t. If you were to respond I wouldn’t know what to say.
“Where have you been?” You’d ask.
