Some days I wake up sad. Nothing happens to set it off, I just wake up that way. I sit in my house, and stare at the walls for hours. The dishes sit unwashed on the bench, the dirty washing sits on the floor. I think about moving off the couch to do some housework and it puts me in a strange kind of panic. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to get dressed, I most certainly do not want to talk. If the phone rings, I won’t answer it. If someone comes to the door, I’ll pretend I’m not home. I want to be alone, to feel sad and lonely alone.
There’s a rational part of my mind, a kind of inner commentary, that knows this is a bad day, and knows at the same time that if these bad days keep happening, I’m going to have to go back on medication. That part of my brain that’s self-aware, always quietly monitoring the freak-outs, the mood swings, and the headaches, ready to sound the alarm if the bad days stretch into weeks, or if I sink too low. The part of me that’s always trying to weigh things up and recognise when the scales tip.
I want it to be quiet. I want the rational part of my mind, the part that’s trained and cautious, to just give in and let the sadness engulf me, take over, and be all that there is. But at the same time, I’m so afraid that it will.
Some days I just wake up sad.