Getting out of bed in the morning was especially hard. I know it’s commonplace for people to say they were so depressed they couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, so much so that excessive sleeping has become one of the official clinical symptoms of depression, but the lived experience has many nuances not captured by colloquial expressions and abstract diagnoses. I would wake up, but I would be unable to make the next move, as though I were literally paralyzed and the only physical difference between being awake and being asleep was that my eyes were open. My state of immobility seemed aimless and unmotivated, not something I could change in any way. I couldn’t even really recognize what possessed me as dread or anxiety.
I would lie in bed thinking but unable to get up, often covered in a layer of sweat that would soak the sheets. It was not the sweat of heat but something else, a kind of animal fear exuding through my pres and leaving a sticky film on my body. During that fellowhsip year, the bed in my furnished rental apartment never became comfortable. I was sleeping on odds and ends of sheets that had been left there; the faded pastel polyester was worn and pilled and felt bad against my skin. (Eventually, I learned to being my own bedding when I move, a simple but effective technique for making my body feel at home.)
– Ann Cvetkovich, Depression: A Public Feeling