The hardest part of having a chronic illness is not the pain, it’s not the fatigue or the worry, or the medical bills or the medication – it’s the smiling and pretending to be fine.
The hardest part of depression is not the dark thoughts, the isolation or the continuing sense of impending doom – it’s also the smiling and pretending to be fine.
Sometimes I want to be depressed. Yes I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s because being depressed is a lot less effort than being happy. I understand it’s usually the other way around for most people, but I gather that I am not most people. And sometimes I want to stay in my pajamas and shuffle around and eat ice cream for breakfast and smoke rollies (even though I don’t smoke anymore) and drink copious amounts of tea instead of eating because it’s easier. I also really like laying on the sofa.
Looking after myself is hard work, I’d quite like to stop. Washing my hair leaves my arms aching until a few days later when I pluck the courage up to do it again. Showers are exhausting. Putting mascara on hurts my shoulders. So I’d like to give up on my appearance for a bit and have hair like a bird’s nest and shower every 3 days or so. I’ve done worse when at festivals, so why not?
I want to give up. I don’t mean this in a “woe is me, my life is over, the end is nigh” kind of way; please don’t call the Mental Health Crisis Team again. I just mean I want a break. I’m bloody tired. When the average person gets ill they lay around on the sofa moaning about it and being miserable for a few weeks. I’d like to do that for a bit please. Then I’ll pick myself up, wash my hair, put down the ice cream and get on with it; until the next time I get fed up of smiling and pretending of course.