Melancholia

He had to pee. It wasn’t too terribly demanding yet, but if he made himself do it now he could stay in bed longer- the pressing thirst reminded him that he hadn’t drank since yesterday afternoon.

The pressing thirst reassured him that he wouldn’t have to pee again anytime soon.

He just wanted to go back to sleep. There were things to be done, for sure, but did it really matter? Who would actually care if he didn’t?

He struggled to push the comforting layer of sleep back. He had to at least think for a moment. This mental feat was almost more difficult than forcing his cumbersome muscles into action. If he didn’t move his body was barely sore.

If he didn’t think the pain wouldn’t be so great.

He glanced at the television. It had turned itself off automatically after hours of comforting company. He at least had that. They parried his thoughts into the corner and successfully covered them with a sheet. Even drugs didn’t do that. The remote was probably the only thing he remembered where he put anymore, so turning the TV back on was almost effortless. Voices backed by thin music drifted from the speaker and he almost wished there was something good on.

His soul sighed as he made up his mind. Muscles and bones groaning, he shuffled into the bathroom and emptied himself. The bed was whispering sweet nothings, beaconing him with promises of its warm embrace, but Bella was sitting pretty by her empty dish.

“Yeah yeah, how can I say no when you look at me like that, huh sweetie?”

“Murpht,” she said, eliciting a chuckle from him. He poured her a little extra food, just in case he had slept through feeding her yesterday.

Since he was already up, gathering supplies was necessary. He opened the fridge but only Tupperware with fuzzy layers stared back at him, and he quickly dismissed the pressing nudge to go to the store. It may be only 280 steps away, but with the shape his body was in it might as well have been two million. He craved a cup of coffee but that would take too much work, so he filled the coffeemaker with water instead, and settled a tea bag in a mug. He found a couple of honey rolls in the cabinet, and after quick inspection decided that’ll at least calm the grumbling in his belly. He shuffled back to bed armed with a semblance of sustenance.

He pulled up the still warm covers and set the remote beside him. The clock glared 3:54. He glanced at his phone. He had to do it.

The email from his boss said he was fired. Many apologies, he was a great worker and they had tried to be patient and give him breaks, but to be employed you actually had to come in- or at least call and communicate.

He was sure the many voicemails he had been ignoring for days said the same thing so he erased them without listening.

Jack and Shane were worried. They wanted to go do something, tried to sound upbeat. “Get you out of the house, man.”

Two emails and two texts from her. She was worried about him. Word was getting around apparently.

There was a voicemail too. He played it against every cell in his body warning him, screaming against it.

Her voice. It didn’t matter what she said, her voice cut straight through him and pooled in a heavy nauseating mass in his gut. He put the phone back on the table and stoked Bella, trying in vain to focus on her generous purrs.

He wanted to punch himself for being such an idiot. The television wasn’t going to distract him now. The pain was far greater than when he had woke. He opened the orange bottle and shook out a few extra pills, washing them down with the warm tea, and tried to ignore the huge pleading eyes of the only one he allowed close anymore.

Depression hurts. It makes everything more difficult, sometimes almost impossible. If someone you know is suffering please seek help. If you are suffering, it may feel like nothing will help, but it can get better. Please talk with someone close to you, or call a help line, you will remain anonymous:

USA
HopeLine 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Youth Crisis Line 1-800-448-4663

Canada
18662773553