The Glamorous Side of Depression

I lost my son Jon to suicide almost two months ago. Since then I have not had the desire to take proper care of my basic needs. I barely eat. I can't fall asleep at night but yet I sleep excessively during the day. If that wasn't bad enough, personal hygiene has not been a priority. 

I do not have much of an appetite. During the day my form of sustenance consists of things that start with the letter "C". Caffeine, candy, cake, cookies and chips. My only "real" meal of the day is dinner. My husband and children do most of the cooking because I do not have the desire to prepare the evening meal. At least twice a week we eat fast food which consists of burgers, fried chicken or pizza.

I hate falling asleep each night. Going to sleep means that I will have to wake up. Each morning I hope that the past few weeks is just some horrible nightmare. Instead, as I open my eyes I come to the realization that my son is gone. Every day the cycle repeats. After a good cry, I finally get out of bed. Sadly, the reason is to go to the bathroom because of my urgent need to pee.

I spend most of the day in bed sleeping. Whenever I wake up after one of my numerous naps, I lie in front of my laptop and wander aimlessly on the World Wide Web. This is the time where my consumption of the "C's" occurs. My daily exercise regimen consists of brushing crumbs off my clothes and my computer. The only thing that I have gained from this experience is weight.

I shower once a week if I am lucky. My hairbrush has become obsolete. The natural oil from my scalp help my fingers glide through my hair effortlessly removing most of the tangles. I have noticed that I am beginning to morph from feminine to masculine. My eyebrows are getting reacquainted with each other. I am beginning to sport a light mustache. I find it absolutely amazing that the hair on my legs are long enough to comb. I often wonder when the hair under my arms will be long enough to braid. I do not speak or smile often because I have replaced my toothbrush with chewing gum. 

Choosing something to wear from my vast wardrobe is simple. I usually wear the same thing for days in a row; bra optional. I could never claim that I would make a good meteorologist. Every day my breasts reveal that the weather will be nippy. To solve that problem, whenever I am forced to leave the house, I wear a coat no matter what the temperature. 

If you have the luxury of seeing me in public, please be kind. I give small, quick hugs for good reason. Big hugs require exposing my armpits to the open air. I am not trying to seem standoffish. I am doing you a favor.