From Under the Covers

I walked 15,000+ steps today on the treadmill.

I hid in my car to cry.

I pulled the covers over my head and hid.

My mind found the precipice and fell off.  I am now clawing at the edges of the pit that is depression.  My heart hurts.  My mind is foggy.  I’m not understanding things easily.  I canceled plans today because I knew I wouldn’t cope well.

I hate this place.  The darkness is so confusing and frustrating and pointless.

But, contrary to what my therapist believes, I don’t have complete choice over coming here.  She tells me I can control my emotions.  Ironic part is, it is therapy that brought this depression on.

My social anxiety has been growing exponentially.  I put off a simple task for 2 weeks because I couldn’t pick up the phone to make a little phone call.  I told the therapist.  She gave me an assignment to start calling the people who are relatively easy for me to contact and do that until I was more comfortable than when I started.  I was supposed to then head up the chain until I reach those it is hardest for me to call.

Doesn’t it sound simple?  Yes, it does.  Very simple.  So straightforward.  And so impossible.  I don’t know what to do now, but I know that is at the root of this depression.  She and my doctor would be proud that I can at least identify that, but how am I supposed to control that visceral response?

I.have.no.idea.

So here I am, in the pit.

I want to scream until there is no air in my lungs.

I want to cry until there are no more tears.

I want to stomp my feet until they hurt.

I want to do something to end how I am feeling right now.

But I don’t know what that something is or how to do it.

So here I sit.