When did getting dressed become a victory?

I promised Boyfriend two things before he left for work this morning:

1.   That I would get dressed.
2.   That I would leave the house.

I am cheating just a little. Yes, I'm out of the apartment, but I haven't exactly left the building. I'm hanging out in the unused party room upstairs to get distance from the safety of my bed as I write. That's right, I broke into a party room to ponder the depression that has taken hold of me. Ironic? Funny? Pathetic? All of the above.

I think it started three or four days ago. The immobilizing thoughts, the realistic nightmares, and the ill-timed fits of teary panic have consumed me again. The last time I felt this bad, it held tight for months until it finally let loose with a trip to the ER. Now, it has me thinking that maybe this won't be the year I stay out of the hospital or the year I don't drop below 100 pounds or the year I don't scare away someone I love to death.

Boyfriend's calling bullshit. I feel incapable of everything, but he's seen my strength. I want to cry in bed just one more day. He knows the procrastination will make me hate myself more at night. I say I'm worthless, but he sees something I can't. He is the most supportive and loving person I could possibly have by my side at a dark time like this, but he is also not going to let me fuck up my new job, my writing, or all my progress that I have made since my last depressive episode. He's bringing out a bit of tough love.

So here I am. A zombie. A zombie with a pen trying to explain what depression feels like despite zero energy or creative drive. Pushing through depression is more than holding back some tears. My body physically hurts. There is a flu-like ache over my skin and muscles that makes a shower seem too taxing. I can't remember how to do tasks that I've done a million times, like holding this damn pen.

I get this totally disconnected feeling, this feeling that I am passing control to one of my monsters while I try to hide, coming out for brief moments to check the day and figure out where I am. How the fuck am I supposed to hide when they are inside of me?! The best I can do is hide them from everyone else. In my apartment, under the covers, locked in a bathroom. 

Time means nothing. I can lie in bed crying for hours, and not be sure whether it was a moment that passed or a week. Hell, I had the same feeling follow me when I attempted to do dishes this morning. Suddenly, I couldn't remember if I just started scrubbing that pan or if I have been scrubbing a clean pan for hours. It is these kind of thought processes that creep into "normal" things when I am depressed making it feel like I can't function. The monsters don't care if I am with a friend or driving my car. They transport me out of my body, out of time, and into my head to spend some quality alone time with them.

Boyfriend forcing me emphatically urging me to carry on with my life makes me recognize the disconnect and desire to hide in a very uncomfortable way. I'd rather not accept that my reality does not mesh with everyone else's. I wish my biggest battle I had to fight was to get a promotion at work or figure out how to pay for Spring Break. But I guess I'm just one of the lucky ones who gets a messed up head.

As much as I hate to admit it, getting out of bed helps. It's not a cure, by any means. I still feel like shit and want to crawl back to my safe zone, but there may be a little more strength in me that I didn't have when I woke up.