I can’t get out of bed.
The mornings are dull, my heart aches with the desire to feel something other than void, the thick air feels heavy against my skin.
I can’t get out of bed.
What’s the point? You can’t afford this. How are you going to manage a real job? You’re in over your head.
The voices speak but I’m tuning them out. They don’t know me. They don’t define me.
I can’t get out of bed.
Responsibility calls but I don’t answer. Instead, I cry; for nor particular reason at all. Depression calls. I answer her.
I can’t get out of bed.
I read endless articles about positivity and happiness and how to become a healthier me. It seems simple. I try it.
I still can’t get out of bed.
Tomorrow is a new day. Opportunity awaits. Depression will call me, but I’ll try to decline her. She never has anything good to say.
Tomorrow I’ll try to get out of bed.
Try with all your might, Leah. You can do it.
LikeLike