I have been severely depressed in the past year. I was just coping with my diagnoses of bipolar disorder, severe depression, anxiety, and PTSD when the pandemic hit, and I couldn't go out to see my psychiatrist.
Then I lost my job and moved back home to my parent's house, where I found that not only did I lose my independence, I lost my peace as well.
To say that my depression spiraled would be an understatement. Three months after moving back in, my suicidal ideations came back. I could barely get up, and conversations with anyone --- actual conversations were overwhelming. Movies, series, variety shows, or music I can deal with, socializing, even at the dinner table, are chores I couldn't get out of.
I only get up for meals to appease my parents and to stop them from asking questions. I still work because I have to, but the work-from-home setup is making me more depressed.
Today, I got up and actually did something. I assembled a small shelf for my books. I finished within two hours and arranged my books in the afternoon. It's a small achievement, to be honest. But small wins count so much these days. I'm proud of myself, even for this.