I did get up out of bed.  I brushed my teeth, I showered and put on clean clothes.  I went to Google Blog, learned the basics and posted my first entry for my new blog, Click Here to Begin.  If it were only that simple…

Then I crawled under the covers, clothes and all, knowing that I could do it, but not sure why I bothered.  My resolve to begin anew lasted about two hours.  It is like an addiction, this mental illness.  I crave the isolation and relative peace that is mine only when I am asleep.  While I have never been addicted to drugs or alcohol, I have my share of addictive behaviors and know what it is to crave food, silence, money, and love to the point of engaging in very destructive and habitual activities.

Six hours later, I awake and venture out from under the sheets and blankets.  I need to check out my surroundings to familiarize myself with the safety measures I have in place.

The peep hole is covered with the end of that notice that is posted in every New Jersey hotel room, maximum rates and rules and regulations, form B6E120, provided for this establishment by the American Hotel Register Co.  Gee, the room I am residing in is permitted to charge up to $299/night.  Kudos  to www.hotels.com.

I always check the peephole (the wide-angle door viewer type, not the virtual peephole) when there is one, making certain the view is to the outside of the door and not inside the room.  Then, I promptly cover it up with something in the event someone happens to have a reverse peephole viewer handy.  This time I did not need to fashion any kind of MacGyver device because the plastic holder for the maximum rate notice is mounted directly below the peephole.  Using a pair of tweezers I carry in my shoebox first aid kit, I was able to reach into the top of the plastic holder and grab the end of the notice, raising it just enough to cover said peephole.

The mattresses are on a platform, so I know there is nothing lurking beneath the bed.  The window coverings are securely fastened with an old hair clip I have used in numerous capacities.  The bathroom door is wide open, and the shower curtain is pulled to the left side of the tub and draped over the rod.  This room has an open closet arrangement or I would have those doors wide open, too.

The phone is unplugged and tucked away in the night stand.  I do not like telephones, especially land lines, and use one as little as possible.  It its place I have my sleep machine, a white noise generator that also provides the time.  I leave it on all the time.  It effectively blocks out what is happening outside these four walls and I feel more alone and safer.

All those things that are important to an escape and part of this flight from reality are in a small paper bag which is then double bagged in plastic zip lock and hidden in a secret place.

I can believe that I am alone in this world and that is very good.  It is a belief, an illusion I know, and I have not put reality at bay.  But I need this small space, these four walls, to be my boundaries, because my self has no boundaries.  Something happens when I go out there.  It is as if I have no substance and am only an extension of the others.

Perhaps there is more than depression going on.  You think?