The face of depression isn’t always a sad one.
In fact, I’m willing to bet that no one other than McDreamy could tell you that I am depressed. I’ve even managed to hide it from him for a long time. I managed to hide it from myself for even longer. Probably because my depression doesn’t manifest itself as sadness most of the time. Yes, I get sad, & I cry over stupid things, but mostly, I’m angry. & tired. Oh, so tired.
I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired. I’ve tried sleeping more, sleeping less, different mattresses, sleep aids, et cetera, infinity. Nothing helps. I’m always tired, unless I don’t get decent sleep & then, I’m exhausted. Small, easy tasks are insurmountable obstacles because I can’t possibly have the energy to do a load of laundry when it takes everything I have to stay awake & breathe. I want to do things, I just simply can’t.
I’m so forgetful. McDreamy can ask me to do something, & within minutes I’ve forgotten, so it doesn’t get done. I start something & it takes 3 times longer to finish it because I get distracted & forget what I was doing in the first place. I can put something next to my purse so that I “won’t forget it!” & then walk right out without it.
& then there is the anger. Or, THE RAGE as I call it. It bubbles up inside of me so quickly, at the smallest thing. Sometimes, I can squash it back down, but most of the time it takes over before I even realize what is happening. I have zero patience. I feel like a crappy parent to Zola more & more often; her issues make it challenging to do things with her, & my fuse is so short that I avoid playing games or doing crafts with her because OH MY GOD, YOU AREN’T DOING IT RIGHT, & DO I REALLY HAVE TO EXPLAIN THIS AGAIN?!? I know how horrible that sounds, trust me. Which is why I avoid doing things with her that I know will trigger it. There are a lot of times that I just have to walk away. I hate hate hate it. I feel like I’m turning into MY mother, which is the worst possible fate in the universe. I KNOW what it was like growing up with her; I know what it felt like to be her daughter. I don’t want that for Zola, & I don’t want it for any other children we may someday have.
Once you combine all of this together, I feel like the biggest failure on the planet. I can’t keep my house clean, so I fail as a wife. I can’t get pregnant, so I fail as a woman. I can’t be interactive with my daughter, so I fail as a mother. I can’t hold my temper, so I fail as a person. Everything I do is wrong, no matter how hard I try. I want to be a good wife, a good mother, a good person. I try so, so hard. But it isn’t good enough.
It isn’t good enough because my brain chemistry is out of whack. The chemicals in my body are betraying me, every day. They are causing these feelings, this little voice telling me that I’m not worth it. They are causing the bone-crushing exhaustion that envelopes me & keeps me from doing the things I so desperately want to do.
& this sounds like excuses, which is another reason I’ve put off getting help for so long. I (& that little voice) had convinced myself that I was just a lazy, mean bitch. I had convinced myself that this is just how I’m made, that if I really wanted to, I’d get up & do the dishes. If I really wanted to, I could have more patience. That if I wanted to, I could stop being so lazy, so angry, such a failure. That surely, I must be doing something wrong.
Well, I was doing something wrong. I wasn’t getting help. But that’s about to change. Because I’m going to fight chemistry with chemistry, & be the person I’ve dreamed of being.
Bring it on. I’m done being depression’s punching bag.
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