“What to Do When You Can't Do Anything” Zine

By Victoria @sillycreativexx

written July 2025

How I’ve been getting through hunkering down with depression

How do you come to peace with what feels like your system shutting down when every piece of pop-psychology advice tells you to get up, get out, and get moving to get your mind healthy?

It is true, movement and sunlight do help depression; it’s evidently proven. That’s why I feel even more like a failure when I just can’t. I feel like I have been bordering on catatonic at times. I think even some who have dealt with depression can't understand that, especially without the experience of bipolar. When the typical advice that seems so simple isn't possible, or is even harmful when you're in a state of conserving your energy, it can automatically feel like a failure.

The idea of pushing until you can't go anymore, fake it until you make it, if you act as your ideal self and if you keep working, it'll become true, is everywhere. It can be helpful. I’ve had times, whether a new job role or adjusting to changes, where I knew that I was capable and that strategy was helpful. Unfortunately, it's often not sustainable for those with chronic debilitating mental health diagnoses, at least not in every phase of them.

I’m not the easiest to deal with while in an episode, I’m the first to admit that. I’m not quite combative; my desire for wellness is typically still there, which helps, but I can come off a bit like Jax Taylor drowning in the lake at Big Bear in Vanderpump Rules.

I often shut down or minimize what is going on until it's too apparent that I need someone to step in. I know this has led to uneasiness for those around me; I’ve learned that over time.

Years of masking in childhood to protect myself from abusive policies in the mental health environments I was in have led me to be confusing and wishy-washy in what I need and where I’m at. Dealing with varying symptom presentation due to my bipolar also complicates that. Something my mom used to tell me when I was in college (first go around) while I'd be sobbing was, “I thought you were doing so well.” It used to drive me up a wall because usually,

1. I had been doing well.

or

2. I had been trudging along, barely holding it together, and trying to will myself to keep going so I wouldn't disappoint everyone and myself.

I couldn't handle what stepping back would look like because that meant I let everything fall apart, ruined by my mental health yet again. And then what would we do? We were both doing our best in a world that doesn't give you a guidebook on how to navigate shifting from adolescent to adult mental illness. I wanted to shed my tumultuous teenage past and finally be “successful”. She wanted to be a supportive mom; she was and still is.

So what has this period of hunkering down looked like for me lately?

First, it has required me to try to put the shame down. I put this first because it really is the foundation for everything in this shit show of getting through the survival stage. I can hate myself for not being able to do more or I can acknowledge that if I could, I probably would. Realistically, I usually do both of those.

Conserving my energy.

I’ve been running out of steam faster than ever before. I’ve had to separate the things that I need to do, things that I want to do, or wish I could do. Right now, #1 for me is keeping up on my online college class because I can’t manage the emotional, academic, or financial fallout that letting things slip would cause. I’ve been there before with college, and I vowed to myself this time would be different. I’m so close to being done with my associates after fighting so hard to get here.

Whether justified or not, I already feel like I’ve let so many aspects of my life fail, and I can’t handle letting this one go yet, even temporarily. Then comes all of the other lovely mandatory self-care things like eating, changing my clothes, and showering, with varying degrees of success, of course. Lately, there hasn’t really even been any “wants”, like having creative time or going out, so that helps and hurts with this one.

Resting.

I’ve been letting myself sleep past 12pm, something I normally despise thinking about, and fills me with shame. It goes against most mental health advice that advocates for early sleep/wake time and routine. I know I desperately need to rest, and in the name of harm reduction, for now, I’m okay with my days needing to be shorter to keep my sanity together a little more. I’m learning it is not the same as the typical depression, wallowing in bed. It's a protective measure as I adjust to medication changes. Reinstalling routines can come later.

Forcing myself to accept I’m going to let people down, especially myself.

I don't have the energy to agonize with “should I, shouldn't I” while in this survival mode. Mental illness is unfair, unreliable, and for me, constantly changing. Something that may be incredibly easy to accomplish one day can be beyond impossible to do the next week. I’ve found myself in spots lately where I think I’m doing a great job at accommodating myself, only to let myself down all over again. Each time wears on me more and more. I apologize, shift things where needed, and try to move on.

Keeping my safety #1 and finding reasons beyond the external to do so.

Something I didn't anticipate during this time is that my typical reasons to keep going would feel so foggy and disconnected in my mind. That scared me. I realized I was using fear to try to keep myself safe, and, in my numbness, it wasn't working. So I shifted to something more tangible. I’ve been continuing to do my online class, one of the few demands I can handle (barely), and at night, when I feel the urge to, I’ve let myself keep dreaming and working on projects that mirror what I’d want my future to look like. I’ve still been feeling passionate about connecting with others through my story (and theirs) and trying to have whatever water droplet-sized impact I can in the experience of dealing with mental health. I’ve been holding onto that tightly and sometimes it feels like all I have left.

Being radically honest.

I’ve had to force real answers out of myself when my therapist asks those typical “crisis time” hard-hitting questions. This goes against all that is natural for me. It also goes hand in hand with doing things you don't want to do. For me, this was giving my surplus of medication to a safe person. I felt so much resistance to this because I didn't want to cause unnecessary worry. But I needed to look at myself and get really honest with where I was at, that I’m not well and am not making decisions that my healthy self would. So, to keep myself safe during this time, I need to get real, face the truth, and safeguard against that. In the name of honesty, sometimes I regret the healthy choices I make, so this is a complicated one for me, but it is what’s gotten me this far in my journey.

Thinking back to a healthier self.

So much of my experience the last year has been, what feels like, frantically trying to set up the “next thing” so I can feel in control of my varying mental health and like I’m not letting things spiral. This has meant doing an intensive outpatient program, starting and stopping jobs, going back to college, starting peer specialist certification courses, weekly therapy, medication changes, and the list goes on. It has been difficult to come to terms with those things that may have helped, but I am still in this place. That girl I have been in the past, who was excited about life, I know she’s in there somewhere, I just don’t know how to get to her anymore. Thinking back to stable times has been difficult and sometimes leads to me feeling resentful. At the same time, I know it’s important to remember that girl existed.

Overall, meeting myself where I’m at is what makes any of this possible. It requires me to open my eyes and see it, the gunky, grimy, disgusting-feeling reality that is living in a period of mental health crisis. It’s not disillusioning myself with the version of myself I think I am or wish I could be, even though it is painful. It’s living in the truth of it so that the next steps truly make sense and can be productive. That means letting my family make me food, having extra water nearby for when I can’t get out of bed, keeping comfort items close, and being fucking realistic with my abilities right now.

All of this comes with the privilege of having safe people around. I’m not oblivious to that, and it's something I’m actively grateful for every single day. Sometimes it is further complicated by the guilt of making them witness me like this. That is one of the worst parts, and it makes me want to hide. I don’t have the answers or next steps, and I still feel extremely lost.