A Self-Care Kit For Your Next Depressive Episode

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I am 100% over the notion that those with mental illness should be ashamed of how much time they spend in bed when we feel like shit. I’m also over the fact that we feel like we should feel shame over, to the point of hiding, our depressive behaviors (like skipping showers, crying for hours, and wiping snot on our comforters). That being said, today’s a great day to finally get honest about what goes on when we’re bound to ours beds, drowning in drool.

The more we talk about this stuff, the less we’ll feel alone. Not to mention, the more others can learn to understand (and help) us rather than judge. Being in bed with depression, anxiety, or whatever may be keeping you there for an extended period of time can really make you feel like a butt hole full of barnacles. I decided to make this roundup of goods you can put in your nightstand/under your bed/wherever nearby to help you care for yourself as much as possible when you can’t get out of bed. Hope this helps! 

Face Wipes/Makeup Wipes – Basically, the goal for this entire list is to make you feel like you brought your bed into the shower with you, so you don’t physically rot into your mattress. We want to get you feeling as regulated, accomplished, and energized as we can while still allowing you to have a major bed moment. That said, washing my face is something that makes me feel like I’m clean, clear, and under moderate emotional control. But I know damn well I’m not getting out of bed to walk 3 feet (which comes out to roughly 65 eons in depression years) to my sink to do it. Cue the face wipes. If we’re being real, the great ghost of depression is going to trap you here for an undisclosed amount of time, so the word ‘wipes’ are going to be in this roundup like 600 times.

Plastic/Paper Bag –  Set aside an old grocery bag to use as a makeshift trash can. If you’re anything like me, you’ll be bunking with 16 empty White Castle slider cartons within the first hour of bed rest. Save yourself the extremely daunting task of cleaning up your dumpster heap when you finally feel good enough to leave your room.

Pads, Tampons, Baby Wipes – I told you we weren’t getting out of bed for shit. And that includes changing your tampon, pad, or underwear if you’re on your period. You better believe I’ve knowingly slept (awoke and decided to stay) in a puddle of my period blood because I didn’t have the strength to leave my duvet palace. Toxic shock syndrome is very ‘72 and not in the whimsical, Stevie Nicks way. Plus you reallllly don’t have time to deal with that on top of being depressed, do you? Hint: fucking no? Get out your baby trash bag we talked about, give the old coochie x booty combo a wipe down (don’t forget those pube crispies!) and change up your feminine products. Again, it’s all about making you feel as refreshed as possible so that eventually, you do gain some strength, energy, and enough feelings of competence to get your (clean) booty up and out of the sack.

Travel Hairbrush – I have wavy hair that knots at the mention of a pillow. Might as well brush it out if you’ve got the time. Bonus: it’s like getting a free mini scalp massage! Shout out to self-soothing.

Lint Roller & Febreze – If you’re anything like me, your bed is about to be crumb and hair-shed city. Lint roll that shit up. Spritz your blankets. Instant clean-ish bed. Better yet – maybe you have some relaxing scented pillow spray? Squirt, squirt bish.

Extra Undies – I see London, I see France, I see those discharge-coated underpants. But I’m not judging you for it. I’m the Messiah of flipping my underwear inside out and pretending it’s chill. As I said before, we don’t know how long you’re going to be in that bed. Might as well pack for an extended stay.

Fresh Pajamas – Nothing like a pair of clean jams to make you feel spruced as fuck. Plus you might have to sit up or stand to put them on. Pat yourself on the fucking back. I’m not even kidding. This is progress.  

Spare Meds – When you have the emotional capacity of pancake, rolling out of bed to grab your pills is equivalent in joy to snorting Bengay. Even though they could be in my purse, on the floor, two feet away, they’re still TWO UNFATHOMABLE FEET away. Which means I can’t do the contort-my-body-half-way-off-the-bed-and-reach-for-my-purse-with-my-pinky move. Which means I'm not getting up to take them. They might as well be trapped in an undisclosed owl pellet on the floor of a forest. And what happens if you skip your meds? The emotional shit storm rages on until you’re so attached to your bed you might as well file for a domestic partnership.


[Disclaimer time! If you can't bring yourself to make this kit or complete any of these tasks, don't beat yourself up. You're depressed for fux sake! Sometimes your biggest concern is just surviving the day. I get it. Xo]