In some ways it was a bad weekend.
Depression and anxiety go hand-in-hand. The medication helps, but there are still days where the depression cuts through, and the symptoms become overwhelming.
There are some of you who think of depression as feeling sad. I've heard more than one person say something equivalent to "just cheer the fuck up", and I gotta tell ya, it's like telling a cripple to "just get up and walk".
Beside the point.
There are times when I have depressive episodes. There are days when I need to hide, when everything is too overwhelming, and I just want to sleep. And I'm not talking about a want, I'm talking about a need. If you find yourself saying "yeah, everybody has days like those, they're called mondays", hold your tongue, you have no understanding.
It's the kind of thing where you know that you should do something, you say to yourself "I will do this now", and yet you don't get up and do it. Sometimes it's something as simple as going to the bathroom, and the only thing that gets you out of bed is that the pain is unbearable. It might be a simple thing, like putting the dishes in the dishwasher, or picking up that piece of paper that just fell on the floor, but you just don't do it. And then it becomes easy to roll into old patterns: "look how horrible I am, I can't even pick up this piece of paper or do the dishes", and that feeds on itself in a spiral of death.
I've learned to recognize-- at least after the fact-- that those things are symptoms of an illness rather than a fault of my character. Between that and the medication, I can usually do things in a fairly normal manner. I do have episodes now and then. Sometimes they're triggered by stress, sometimes they just happen.
When an episode hits and I recognize it, I usually try and hide away until it passes. I don't always recognize it right away. Sometimes I just have really bad days.
However, there are outside elements (read: people) who don't get that. Sometimes people have expectations that I don't meet, and I disappoint them.
I want to let it not bother me, but it hits too close to home at times. And this weekend was one of those times.
I slept most of the day Saturday. I managed to get out to watch a movie and to take Sadie for a walk, but everything else just got dumped. On Sunday, I managed to get upstairs enough to play videogames. I didn't even shower, which is hella wrong for me.
I'm still not okay. I'm better. But if I seem particularly anti-social, I'll leave it to you to figure out why.