Depression is a lot like drowsiness. There are days when you can fight through it, laugh and joke with others, and carry on with your day like nothing is wrong. But in the back of your mind, sleep is always calling.
Then there are days when it’s visible in your eyes. People can see the fatigue on your face. You can’t excuse it away or resist it anymore. And you want nothing more than to succumb to the Sandman’s spell.
It often feels like my bed is the only respite from the real world. The flannel is my fortress, the pillow my protector. The rush of life could fly right over me and I would not care to participate. The light is too bright, the world too exhausting.
When I am in my bed, nothing can overtake me because I am always falling under, forever desiring to spiral down into that deep, decadent dark.