CONNECTION - Can’t Get Out of Bed

I first became aware of My Bed by Tracey Emin not long after it won the Turner Prize. I read the blurb, looked at the photographs, and was reminded that I'm much more of a "make it obvious and stick a little white card underneath explaining it" kind of person.

Like much modern art, it left me feeling slightly out of my depth. I found myself wondering whether the mop and bucket in the corner were a profound statement about existentialism, or whether the apple core was a powerful commentary on consumerism devouring itself.

As with most things that feel far more sophisticated than I am, I smiled a lot, nodded thoughtfully, made the occasional "Mmm..." and secretly wondered if there was a football match on somewhere.

The thing is, that image has stayed with me.

An unmade bed.

Life at a standstill.

Someone unable to get up.

An unmade bed.

The curtains closed.

Someone unable to get up.

Life at a standstill.

It's an image that has become part of how many of us imagine depression.

Which is why it's not unusual to hear someone say something like:

"The GP says I'm depressed? I can't be. I don't stay in bed all day watching Bargain Hunt."

Or:

"I'm still getting up every morning. I still go to work. Surely I can't be depressed."

The problem is that depression doesn't always look like Tracey Emin's bed.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes depression really is lying in bed with the curtains closed, ignoring the phone, unable to wash, work or find the energy to do much more than exist.

But often it doesn't.

Sometimes depression gets up at 6.30.

It has a shower.

It goes to work.

It answers emails.

It pays the mortgage.

It does the school run.

It remembers birthdays.

It laughs in the right places.

It keeps going.

From the outside, everything appears normal.

Inside, however, something has quietly gone missing.

The difficulty is that many people assume functioning means they must be okay.

It doesn't.

It simply means they've become very good at surviving.

If any of this feels familiar, it doesn't automatically mean you are depressed.

Life is more complicated than that.

Stress can feel like this.

Grief can feel like this.

Burnout can feel like this.

Long periods of pressure can slowly drain the colour from life in ways that are difficult to notice while you're living through them.

But if you've found yourself quietly nodding along, don't dismiss it simply because you've managed to keep going.

Functioning is not the same as feeling well.

One of the most helpful questions you can ask yourself isn't:

"Can I get out of bed?"

It's something much simpler.

"When was the last time I genuinely looked forward to something?"

Or:

"When was the last time I felt like myself?"

If those questions are difficult to answer, it might be worth talking to someone.

That doesn't necessarily mean therapy.

It might begin with a friend.

A partner.

Your GP.

Or someone you trust.

The important thing is that you don't measure your mental health by how well you've become at hiding it.

Because many people who look as though they're coping are quietly carrying far more than anyone around them realises.

Depression isn't measured by whether you can get out of bed.

Sometimes it's measured by how much of yourself it takes to keep getting out of it.

Author's note #1

According to Google, somewhere between two and three million football matches are played across the UK every year. So there probably are football matches on somewhere if I ever have to try to understand modern art.

Author's note #2

Yes, I know Can't Get Out of Bed is by The Charlatans and that they're from Northwich rather than Manchester. But it was simply too good a title not to use. I'll happily accept the musical yellow card.