The Weight of a Melancholic Morning

There are mornings when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and suddenly nothing in the world makes any sense to you. Every task seems insurmountable. You can't gather the energy to move, as if your hands and legs are tied with invisible ropes. Even pouring a simple glass of water feels like an impossible chore. You push away the thought of your thirst, thinking, "Later." Instead, you stare at the grey sky with its dark grey clouds until something else catches your attention.

My gaze drifts to the whiteboard with weekly to-do list. I turn my head to its direction but can’t see the words properly. They are just blurred scribbles. But I also do not want to stand up and walk towards the board, the same inertia that is preventing me from quenching my thirst. The tasks, written in green, remain out of focus, but I know all eight are pending. Strangely, I feel nothing about it.  At this moment, in this place, nothing makes sense. "Am I depressed?" I wonder. A passage from a book I am reading floats into my mind. It mentions that fish get depressed in unstimulating environments, drifting aimlessly in their tanks. Prozac, it claims, can make them lively again. "Do I need a Prozac to get up?" I ponder. 

My thoughts shift abruptly to, “Should I visit the castle that overlooks the city?” It might be refreshing, I think. But my body remains glued to the couch. Instead, I close my eyes and visualize the journey.  I imagine myself walking by the river, passing Alewads shop with its tempting display of shoes and trekking gear, visible until I turn right. The right turn leads uphill towards the magnificent Carolina Redviva library, its beauty now overshadowed by construction work. I cross the road, inhaling the fresh air from the lush green park. Taking a detour, I choose the narrow paths twisting through the park instead of the pebble-strewn road to the castle. As I climb higher, a cold, peaceful breeze greets me. Finally, I reach the small stairs leading to the castle's top. From this vantage point, I see the botanical garden, the cathedral's spire, and the horizon stretching endlessly. 

"What now?" I wonder. Should I go back or explore further? As I descend, I choose the straight road with pebbles this time. I want to keep walking but am unsure where to go. The idea of calling someone for coffee or fika crosses my mind, but I hesitate. I don't want to appear needy. I draft a message in my head, carefully masking any hint of desperation. What if they agree to meet? They'll see my turmoil.  Am I ready to expose my vulnerability? Or is it better to maintain my "strong" armour and suffer in silence? "Let's suffer in silence," I decided. 

Finally, I bring my thoughts back to my present space and get off the couch. I lie down on the floor mattress. It's a small progress, I tell myself. The grey clouds have parted, and warm sunlight kisses my face and belly. The golden light feels refreshing, carrying rays of hope. "Maybe I should take a nap," I decided. I am still thirsty. Yet, I close my eyes, promising myself, "I'll drink soon."