I said these words and thought these words when trying to quantify an achievement for the day. It wasn't today. I have not showered yet. It is one o'clock in the afternoon.
Depression has definitely been a factor for a few weeks and simple things like showering, washing dishes, even putting dog food in a bowl to care for the critters with whom i live - it's just exhausting.
And i've done stuff. i've gone to work, bought groceries, even went to a few social outings. And in all the minutes i'm [sleep] walking through life, all i could think about was hiding under blankets again with or without eyes closed and with or without silence. when the blanket is the important bit, it matters not if i'm sleeping or awake.
And the blankets smell like dog. (because i have these monsters laying on me - which is quite lovely and i miss them when they nest up on the comforters they stole across the room.) So i smell like dog. Everything in my house is covered with dog hair and dog smell. A little one i work with said, "you smell like puppies and perfume." To which i replied, "Puppies is my perfume." It was enough of a jest to make her laugh and enough to convey that i hold no embarrassment about the fragrant scent wafting from my skin. But the cause of the smell is .... the cause of the dog smell is simply because i cannot do a simple thing like cleaning my skin some days.
I like being clean. i like lying in a tub of bubbles and smoothing oils and creams on my skin to soothe any ache in my muscles and open my pores to remove the grime of the world. And most days i am. Most days, i can get through a shower or bath and pull some clean clothes on my body, brush my hair and even get mascara all the way to my eyelashes. But on the days that i can't - the days i don't give a fuck if anyone can smell the stink i can. (my nose is closer to me than anyone else - i know i smell bad.) Those days are days of unease. again it's not embarrassment. i'm good with puppies being my perfume. But it's an unease. it's the cycle of why can't i function in a manner which i expect others? how can i have this derision in my thoughts manifesting itself with a crinkle of nose and a furrow of brow with the perplexing question of why can't they be clean? it ever occurs to me that on some days i am not.
There is a bit of -- that which we don't like about others is the thing in which we hate about ourselves. i hate seeing bad parenting because i question my parental skills. I don't like talking to obstinate people without a clue because i fear that in my stubbornness, i'm dumb and bullying my way into acceptance of my opinions.
So what about this shower thing? i am a blamer. I say the words that i am explaining, not excusing; but, in contemplation [and among other mad folks] i can be honest with myself and use the word blame in relation to my behavior. I can blame not having time or energy to do this thing that seems regular. That's not true though. i have water. i have a hot water heater. i live alone, so i never have to wait for a turn. And yet?
It takes three minutes to shower and thirty seven to fret about the process. In the time it takes me to silently grouse about going through the process, i could have showered, made and drank a cup of coffee and read a short chapter of a book.
The shower is not the only thing. (and again, it's not every day) It's washing dishes and cleaning the floors and doing laundry and making dinner.... And to be clear, this is not a joke where it's like, by the time i get out the shampoo, conditioner, soap, razor, scrunchy sponge, face scrub, foot scrub, and sugar scrub for my relaxing bath i can only fall asleep in the tub. (not getting clean at all) This has never been a joke. When i think to myself, 'i took a shower today.' it's to reassure myself that i did something hard. i did something my brain was fighting against.
So right now, six hours after i woke up, i am lying on the couch on a dog-smelling blanket with my feet on a cane corso. i have not showered today. i have cleaned the floors and learned a new knitting stitch.
I don't know why mental illness beats us up so hard. I look at the pill bottles sitting on my coffee table and read the names to ensure i'm taking the right ones for the time of day and still it's excruciatin to remove the lids and count the pills while avoiding the slivers of light from the blinds covering the windows. I'm afraid if i go outside, someone will see that i am mad. Someone will know that i couldn't shower today. And truly there are days when i don't give a fuck. I'm not sure it matters with the dark cloud if i care or not. it's hard to appear normal. It's hard to do regular.