Quicksand

There are mornings that depression feels like quicksand. Days where I wake up feeling that I’m already sunk; my arms pinned against my sides, knowing that the more I wrestle against this the deeper I’ll sink. When I realize that I have to give into it for today; knowing that when I relax and give myself space that it’ll release its grip. I feel somewhere between hopeless and acceptance; slightly nervous about giving in and embarrassed for finding myself in quicksand in the first place.

There are mornings that depression feels like a heavy blanket. I’m wrapped up and protected in it and, yet, I’m also pinned down and suffocating. I know that I cannot move underneath it and yet I know that it can be removed somehow. These are days that I look for solutions- a way to slip out from underneath, to shimmy and shake it off, knowing that these mornings just happen and that I can move on.

There are mornings that depression feels like a hangover. When I wake up feeling guilty and slow. When I linger in bed longer and wish I didn’t have to face the world yet. When my stomach and bowels empty themselves painfully- and without my permission. When I believe that this morning is my “fault”; that I did something and should soldier on.

This morning my depression feels like quicksand. I’m wide awake and I’m sunk. I’m deep enough in that I know I need to give in to in, and I know that relaxing is my way of “getting out”. This depression is not protective like a blanket. Unlike a hangover, I know that it is not my fault; this sometimes this happens to my body and brain. But, I do feel guilty. I do not feel guilty about the depression itself; I know that I didn’t cause this. But, I feel guilty that my self-care this morning, my giving in, involves canceling classes and having a “sick day”. I know that sick days are allowed at work, but in academia as an Adjunct, it feels difficult to have them. They’re not “official benefits” and I feel guilty about my actions. I am worried about “being caught”. I am worried about looking like a failure to my students. I am worried that they will see my absence as a lack of commitment. I am worried.

And yet, here I sit at 7:54am, six minutes before my first class would usually start. I have sent emails and posted notifications to all of my students about the cancellations. I am sitting here blogging, sinking into it this quicksand, and learning to be with this depression today. I have planned quiet time. I have planned baking and blogging time. I have walking time outside with dogs. And, perhaps, when this loosens and I move on, I will work. But for right now, I’ll stand, arms pinned against my sides, somewhere waist-deep, waiting for the particles to let go. 

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www.amandamichellejones.com/

The Universe is my Classroom: Every encounter is an opportunity to both teach and learn

Running with science

The science of healthy living

Clementine Morrigan

Writer, Artist, Working Witch

chanyado

Chanyado. Shade. Respite from the sun. A place under the tree to rest my head, and wiggle my toes out in the sun.

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