Depression. It sucks. It doesn’t go away. Most of the days it’s there, just tucked away with medication. Kept at bay.
This last week though, it’s been taking over, trying to win. It’s presence is heavy. Like a thick dense air. You have to breath it to stay alive, but the thickness and dank make you feel like you are drowning on dry land.
It’s been a struggle to just get out of bed. Today, I slept in. My 3 year old Rainbow brought his iPad into the bed and watched cartoon while I drifted in and out. I couldn’t get myself out of bed until 11 when he was hungry. I sent him to the kitchen for a Poptart. It worked, but then he was thirsty. That. That he can’t do on his own.
I got him food and a drink and then moved my blankets to the couch. It continued there. After a 4 hour nap late in the afternoon with my son, my husband came home and took him into the living room. I stayed in bed until after 8 PM. This is when my husband forced me to get up.
I didn’t feel right. I feel off. Like I’m in a weird dream state. He doesn’t get depression. How could I be depressed with my son around? Why didn’t he ‘fix’ everything? Trust me. I want to know why too.
I could hear my son tell daddy that mommy was sad again. It hurt even more that my three year old can tell. I wondered why he was askin for a hug every 20-30 minutes the last few days. Hugs fix everything. Even a broken mommy.
My son sees my depression, which makes it worse. I don’t want to be depressed. Then don’t be, right?
It’s not that simple.
I wish it were.
Hopefully this passes soon. I don’t like myself like this. I don’t want my son seeing it. I hate the feeling of being useless and broke. I hate the thoughts that come along with it. I hate IT.
No, this isn’t a coded cry for help. It’s a look into depression if you’ve never had it. If you do, it’s familiar. It’s not deep depression, and it’s very mild. But it still sucks.