I can’t get out of bed

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.