Some days are better than others. Right now isn’t one of those days. I don’t have the get up and go to get out of this chair and make waffles for my husband.
Some days I wish someone else would do everything for me. Instead of me doing for everybody else. I hate those days, feel like I’m letting everyone down.
That’s how I was raised. My mom did for everybody. So I thought I should, too. But it’s exhausting. Especially when I just don’t feel like it. Don’t feel like doing anything.
I had a day a week or so ago–raise your hand if you’ve felt this way–when I didn’t want to get out of bed.
But something compelled me. Maybe I wanted to…I don’t know. Crawl out of the hole. Not let depression win.
It’s hard to talk to family about depression. My eldest brother is Uber-religious and is against therapy. I can’t talk to him. My daughter is almost thirteen; puberty is hard enough without Mom dumping her emotional problems on her. And my Mom suffers from depression too, and she won’t seek help, so that’s pretty much useless.
When I’m feeling like I’m in a hole, maybe I need to sit in the darkness and think about myself. What’s causing it? In this case, I’ve been like this off and on for days. Answer: I dunno.
I have some good news: yesterday I wrote fiction for the first time in months. About two hours off and on I wrote. When I finished, I was exhausted. Felt like I lifted a house with my mind.
Wish this post had a cathartic point, but right now I feel like it’s more of a circle.