You got up hours ago at 9 AM with a contented sigh, late for you. This is your version of sleeping in. You were careful not to wake me, keeping the white noise machine on, quietly preparing breakfast for the both of us, kindly saving a plate for me and wrapping it up for later. You always include me.
Today was a dreamless sleep. Sometimes I prefer dreams to the emptiness I feel inside. The loneliness, though there are reminders everywhere that I am not alone, not really.
I slowly, carefully, open my eyes, never quite knowing if my eyes will betray me. If I’ll be caged in a cell. If I’ll be somewhere other than my bed. My safe place. These days, I can rarely predict how I’ll feel when I wake up. Immediately, I feel the dread settle heavily in my bones. In my chest. I try to practice deep, meditative breaths.
Checking my phone, trying not to doom scroll, I try to set goals for the day. I try to think of small things to inspire me.
Hours pass. I’m unable to move from my bed.
It’s now 2:37 PM.
I wonder if anyone would notice anything’s wrong, but then I berate myself. You notice. You care. And anyway, the world does not revolve around me.
I try my best for you, and also, partly for myself.
I am gently warm up my muscles, moving one limb at a time, but I still remain perched at the end of my bed despite my best efforts.
There is no room for tears. There’s no direction for my sorrow. There’s no cause.
I hear faint footsteps. Hesitant.
The door slightly cracks open, and I see your loving eyes. There is no pity. There is no frustration. There is no judgment.
“Hey, hey there. It’s so good to see you.” Your voice is kindness personified.
I will my face muscles to form a smile, but come up empty. You see the strain in my face, hear my uneven breaths.
You’ve never treated me like a child. Never acted in a condescending way.
We both acknowledge the weight of my depression. And instead of ignoring it, you sit in the heavy silence with me. With both of us at the edge of the bed, you wrap the decades-old quilt around our shoulders and let me lean against you.
“I don’t know what today will be like, but I’m here for you. I know you haven’t heard that much in your past, but I’m here. Always.”
The sun makes a path into my room, offering me hope. Birds play outside and I hear the distant engines of cars. Life is continuing. I am continuing.
My spirit lightens.
I stand up without any trouble, walking a few steps away from the bed.
I look back, wondering why you haven’t followed, but you’re not there.
(You never were).
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Written while listening to this playlist:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feZzLK-YLwg&list=PL9SsxaKeg_-kwk3d15oBubjyk_RmJekQI&index=51
