Bedsores and Bullshit

Today is the 5th day I have lain in bed most of the day. We are talking at least 18 hours if not more a day, in bed. Not sleeping, just laying there, no TV in my room (not that I would have the oomph to turn it on), no reading, no talking, no nothing, just laying in bed. Dozing at times and having weird dreams about my worse fears but mostly we are back to the just laying part. I do make sure to flip and flop every little bit as not to get a bedsore because damn I really wouldn't want to explain to my non-existent family Dr. (long story) how I managed to get a bedsore. The conversation would be brutal: Dr. Non-existent "umm and why are you here today", Me "umm, I have a stage 4 ulcer on my ass", Dr. N.E. "how did you get a stage 4 on your ass?" Me "well I haven't been out of bed for 5 days or so" and well, the conversation goes to hell after that. I have been to the Dr. before and been like "Dude, I am depressed" and they just look at me...like looking at me helps my depression. "What makes you think you are depressed?" Well, you stupid unhelpful asshole the fact that I can't drag my stupid ass out of bed for more than 2 hours at a time and I cry all the fucking time and never mind the sighing and feelings of worthlessness. I am a walking commercial for an anti-depressant. Hello! And then the Dr. says in all doctorly fashion, "have you considered therapy". To which then I fall over dead from the brilliance of that suggestion. Or from the stress of thinking about how well me going to the therapist went last time.

I really hate my depression. I don't like wallowing in self-pity. I don't enjoy being all up in my head about things. But I really don't know what else to do about it. It is not as easy as just snapping out of it or any of that shit. Love yourself or live in the moment or it is what the fuck it is! Well, to me it isn't and it is hard and I know logically that I make life more difficult for myself by wallowing in my pity party. But wallowing is what I do best.