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Laying in bed this morning, like a petulant child refusing to get up for school, I got thinking.
As I lay there, with the fan on, cool breeze, and just moving from one comfortable position to another, I thought back to a few months ago when my reasoning for laying in bed was quite different.

This led to a deeper thought on the matter, and quite frankly spoilt the moment, but was worth it.
A few months back, each morning I would wake, filled with doom and gloom. No good reason to get out of bed, and dreading what awaited me when I did. So for as long as I could, I would find excuses not to get up and start the day.
Raining, can't walk the dogs, being my favourite, however there were plenty more, from convincing myself I was too tired and needed more sleep, to deciding I ached in some way or form and should rest. The depressed mind is full of excuses!

Today however, and the last week or two have been different. I have instead basked in the "life if good" bed of laziness. Like a carefree bachelor with no plan for the day, I just wake and enjoy the moment. Rather than avoiding things, I schedule them in my mind, allowing just enough time to complete the required tasks of the day, whilst making the most of relaxing in bed.
Now I am not going to say that is an every day ideal, it really isn't. But I have to say it is nice to have the option, and to feel in control of it.

I am not scared to get up, nor of what lays in wait day to day. And that is a huge departure from the feelings of depression I fought for the first few months of this year, and previously.

So, with that in mind, I now understand the confusion and misinterpretation people have. When a depressed person says "I just can't get out of bed in the morning" and the person who has not experienced it says "Oh I know what you mean, I get like that". While I appreciate the attempt at empathy, there is a huge difference between being unwilling to get up and get the day started, feeling lazy and unmotivated, and the feeling of being trapped in your bed, covers tucked in, with no way out. Your mind refusing to let you out of the safety and numbness of your bed, to protect you from the day of dread and terror which awaits you.

It sounds far fetched I know, but the mind can play lots of tricks with you, and ultimately controls your actions.So when it says "we are NOT getting up today", you pretty much obey. When you think, I have nothing to do this morning, I am gonna have a lay in, its a choice.

In between these two stages, there is another I have been experiencing recently, and that is reluctantly staying in bed. Through illness or injury, I have spent a lot of time in bed in the past month too, resting my back and hips (most of the time), and fighting off a fever. Waking knowing your mind is happy for you to get out of bed, but this time it is your body, and having to make the reluctant choice to stay in bed, even though you have the mental capacity to be up doing things is quite a kick in the balls, especially when bouncing back from being trapped already.

I guess it is this stage which has spurned this entry more than anything. The line between both ends of the mental spectrum is indeed physical. Prohibiting activity, and leaving you to decide how much you care about resting and recovering. For once fighting the mental drive to get out of bed shows me that I have a lot of choice about my daily actions, and only when I am truly crushed by depression do I lose all control over my life.

That is a powerful message to me, and a reminder that without any visible signs, every drop of energy, drive and hope can be torn from you, and leave you as just an empty carcass of a person, just along for the ride.

I really do hope even just one person who knows these three stages reads this, just so I know I am not the only one who recognises them.
So, next time someone says they just can't get out of bed, imagine it as a physical injury, and give their feelings the same consideration you would if you saw them in a body cast, or with legs in plaster. The mind controls every movement we make, if it says no, the answer is simply NO. Even if you don't understand why.

For years now I have been perceived in many different ways,  from warm and caring,  to cold and callous. I see myself somewhere in the middle,  while I care about  things that are important to me,  I am somehow able to override or switch off from other emotions.

It seems the closer something or someone is to me,  the more I am able to ignore or at least mask my feelings about it.

Over the years friends and family have become ill or died suddenly,  yet I recall only ever crying once. When Adam died.  The first person I had ever spent a lot of time with,  dying. It was a bit of a shock to the system,  but passed quickly. Previously to that my aunt had passed after a short illness, and while I was openly saddened by it,  I somehow felt peace from knowing she wasn't hurting anymore.

But as the years have gone by,  I recall crying very little,  even about some rather traumatic times I have experienced. Is it normal not to cry,  is it strong or weak to cry? Everyone has a different answer.

Personally I have no shame or fear of the emotion,  and from past recollections,  I remember feeling relieved and exhausted by the experience,  but at the same time satisfied. So not being able to have a release when going through a tough time can really suck at times.

I have noticed over the past few years that I get choked up quite easily now,  emotional stories,  tear jerking films,  or even moments which get the heart racing and adrenaline pumping around the body,  the throat tightens,  the eyes water,  but it's far from crying.

Over a space of 4-5 years I have lost a lot of people very close and dear to me. When family you have known your whole life slowly slip away from you,  you expect  the mind and body to need a release,  turn a page,  start fresh,  cleanse the soul and all that.  But for some reason,  for me,  nothing! All just matter of fact,  all just par for the course.

So great has my concern grown at times about this,  I have actually sought counselling in the past,  to talk through my feelings and see if there is either a trigger I'm missing,  or a blockage in my mind stopping me letting go.  Something  from  my past which makes me fear crying,  but there isn't.

My only thought on the matter is that I have had a bit of a tough life in younger years,  learned to be a bit of a loner due to things which have happened,  and somehow shut down the part that shows weakness and sorrow.  I can express it verbally,  I can rationalise death so clearly,  but just can't rally up the physical emotion.

It's a strange feeling,  a horrible feeling,  emotional constipation to be blunt.  While I know there are people who think they are weak or silly to cry,  people who mock crying,  I can only envy those people who can actually tap in,  and let go.

I have never grieved,  rarely expressed emotion over any kind of break ups or partings of friends,  and look on helplessly as others around me express their emotion on a common subject.

This isn't a strength,  I know that for sure.  And while it makes me a strong character,  someone who can be relied on at a time of distress or upset,  it is a weakness in the same breath.  As you look  to me to help you cope,  as I hold you your hand and tell you it will be ok and to let it all out.  Deep inside I envy you and wish we could swap for just one minute,  and you could help me dig deep within my soul and open it up.

Not sure where this blog has come from,  guess it's like the lava of a volcano bubbling away under the surface.  It may never erupt,  it may never be seen,  but somewhere in the depths of me it a boiling pot of emotions.....

Thanks for reading.