Sometimes you happen upon things for a very good reason. I had a rough night; I was sick and barely slept, and when I did fall to sleep a bit it was on the couch so I could be as close to the bathroom as possible.
I spent most of this morning and early afternoon on that very same couch, trying to piece myself back together for work, chores and the household fix-up HUBS and I had planned for later today.
The only thing I could really do with any consistent focus was finish my April issue of O Magazine. There, on page 169, was an article by Lauren Slater called Getting Lighter. In it, she talks about her decades long depression and how it made even the simplest of tasks (taking a shower, putting on non-pajama clothes) become more and more difficult; and how she's striving to feel better by making sure she looks better (new clothes, new hair cut, a well-made-up face even though she's only sitting at home writing...).
Now, it's confession time. I am sometimes so exhausted just from being alive and trying all day long not to panic or worry or get sad for no good reason, that I frequently skip bathing. Not for one day; hell taking showers every other day on a regular basis would be excellent for me. I sometimes skip showers for days at a time; four or even five to be exact.
I find bathing tiring in a way that no personal grooming should ever be. Admittedly, about 70% of this is me being woefully out of shape and actually (dammit, I'm confessing again) getting winded when I shower. The other 30% is my desire to not be reminded of how out of shape I am by seeing myself naked and sweating through my shower because of the mild, mild cardio I get from it.
Also in that 30%? Not wanting to move. Never, ever wanting to move.
I'm entirely too comfortable sitting, all day every day. And for me bathing isn't just jumping in the shower, oh no. It's a whole series of exhausting steps: cleaning the bathtub, taking off my clothes, bathing, drying off, putting on lotion, putting on new underwear and clothes, cooling off (even if my shower/bath was already a cool one).
I am trying to do better, I honestly am. The thing that has struck me since starting medication for depression again is that it's almost worthless without my effort. This is probably why I've had few real successes in my life (lofty dreams and unfinished plans, acquaintances and few friends, jobs but no fulfilling career to speak of).
I'm scared to move. I'm scared to try. I'm scared to fail.
The giant-ass white pill I'm now taking isn't the cure-all. I am.
