I didn't shower for a week in December.
My house is just recovering from the neglect it was at the receiving end of during the last 3 months.
My children spent more days then I can count in pajamas playing games and watching shows.
The idea of having never been born was appealing. Mainly because I would never willingly leave my children and spouse so that would have been preferable.
Pains and aches that had no explanation became my constant companions.
Lashing out at my spouse and older kids when I felt like a failure for not getting anything resembling useful done that day.
A sadness so deep that crying seemed like a waste of water.
Having no reason for that depth of sadness.
Feeding my kids whatever is convenient because they have to be fed.
Trying my best to put on a good face and just move forward.
Leaving the house to try and gain perspective and just feeling like a failure.
Get psychiatric appointment moved up.
Trying to explain that a bigger house won't solve depression on a biochemical level. It would just leave a bigger space for me to feel lost in.
Trying to explain that you can't feed dead fish.
But.
But.
Keep getting up every morning. Eat. Move forward. Kids kids kids.
If nothing else keep the kids going. Meet their needs to the best of my ability. Try.
Try.
Try.
Breath.
Giving myself grace and forgiveness for being broken. I'm doing the best I can. It's not much, but I'm still moving forward.
It's okay.
I'll be okay.
.
.
.
.
.
.
..
...
....
.....
And here on the other side. I can remember how hard it was. How much everything hurt. I can cry again and I watch sappy shows to prove it. (Abandoning the comfortable fall back of The Walking Dead I use to fill my sleepless nights when I'm deep in the dark of The Sads.)
I have a psych appointment next week. We'll probably adjust meds.
It'll be okay.
Forward.
I've got this.
