The Voices in My Head

I can see how people on bed rest can get depressed. I was teetering on the brink of depression and self pity yesterday. There's no reason to get out of bed, much less get out of your pajamas. There's little to no reason to take a shower (cause your husband and daughter love you-greasy haired, oily skinned and all). There's no place to go, so no one's going to see you in public. Why bother maintaining any sense of concern in your appearance? Depression is all consuming. It sneaks up on you, makes you feel lousy about yourself, tells you there is no point in getting out of bed or even living. Why bother? is the overwhelming attitude I hear ringing in my ears. Self pity says to me, Poor you! You can't go any where or do anything. You are restricted, confined, trapped into resting. You are in pain, you are pregnant, and boy you are having a rough go at it this time around. It's so sad how awful your life is. I listened to these voices yesterday, and I literally thought I was going to go out of my mind.

I woke up thinking about something that I could do today. I knew I couldn't have another day like yesterday or I would succumb to the voices in my head and fall into the abyss of depression and self wallowing. I "assigned" myself the task of making a pitcher of ice tea and mailing out one bill. I knew that the walk down and up three flights of stairs to the mailboxes would definitely require all my strength and energy, so I needed to pace myself. It's not like those two tasks alone filled me with joy...especially after reading my friends' facebook posts about their "to do" lists involving, painting, moving furniture back into bedrooms, baking cupcakes, shopping, building shelves, etc (was I actually capable of that at one point?)...but I realize that I needed to have something to do, or just something to look forward to. Even if it's as simple as enjoying a glass of ice tea that I made. I know, heating water and putting tea bags in sounds like a such a minimal task, but to me, it was something to do. I guess now I really do sound like that 85 year old with a broken hip.

I can't sleep away the bed rest. I can't make the time go by any faster by reading a book or watching TV. And I certainly can't just stare at the walls for the next 4 months. The mornings that I wake up, actually get out of my pajamas and give myself a little task to do seem to turn out better than the ones where I sleep in until 11:30 AM and watch TV for 5 hours. I have my good days, and then the not so good days. I guess it really boils down to which voices I'm going to listen to- the ones of hope, perseverance and determination, or the ones of depression, self pity, and anger. But, then again, I don't have to be on bed rest to decide which voices to listen to. I suppose everyone has to wake up and determine what kind of day it is going to be.