So I’m at home last night with my husband and daughter and I’m tense. Like every muscle wants to draw up into a knot. I’m grinding my teeth so hard the top of my head hurts. And I’m hearing a noise. It sounds like a high-pitched whistle. It’s not in my ears, I’m hearing it in my head. And the more I hear it, the more I realize it’s not a whistle.
It’s me screaming.
So what did I do? My days haven’t been this “down” in a while. Months, actually. I thought I’d given up crying. I now save tears for truly important events, like the death of a loved one or when I slam the car door on my knee.
I laid down and cried. As the tears ran down my nose I texted my husband, who was in the other room. I was too worn out to get out of bed. That and I didn’t want our daughter to see me like this. Puberty’s hard enough without witnessing Moms’ breakdown.
Mike laid down with me. That helped. But not enough, because the goddamned “down” wouldn’t stop. It pressed on me. It made me move slowly and deliberately, like I was a blind woman in somebody else’s house, trying to feel my way around the furniture.
I told Mike that I hated depression. I wish it would go away. I wish I could take it out and beat the shit out of it. Like it’s beating the shit out of me.
Tomorrow is Monday. I’ll call my counselor. I’ll try to take a walk, maybe the endorphins will help.
I’m hoping every day gets better.