Unless absolutely necessary, I did not get out of bed. It took colossal effort just to take my daughter to the bus stop. It was only a short walk from home, but I preferred driving. I could not only stay in my pajamas but also get back under my white duvet as fast as possible.
When explaining depression to people, I described feeling my body was a strong magnet and my bed was the magnet of the opposing pole. This was not my first bout with depression. I have bipolar disorder and experience both sides of that disease — the manic and the depressive — but this depressive episode was long and unyielding.
I was exhausted. I felt worthless. I was certain my family would be better off without me. But any time I was close to downing all of my prescription psychotropic medicines at once, I would repeat a mantra: A mommy in bed beats a mommy who’s dead.