I was so excited and hopeful about Nanwrimo. I really thought I could make something good, something that would help me grow. Something that would challenge me. I think I was doing well keeping up with it for a little bit. And then it happened, I self sabotaged. I can’t ever just let myself enjoy anything.
My depression moved back in and sat on my chest. I cried every day for two weeks. I sat in my bed waiting for the days to be over, I forced myself to get dressed and take my kid to her activities, to act normal around others and then I got in my car and drove home and went back to my bed. I told a few people I was sad. I said I am not ok. They asked how they could help and I said they couldn’t but thank you for trying. I wrote many things in my head but never once reached for my computer to try and type them up. I felt myself giving up. I gave up. I shut down. I want to quit everything. I went to dark places. I did not physically hurt myself, I emotionally abused myself.
My depression doesn’t look like anything depression is supposed to look like. My depression looks like worrying, looks like apathy, looks like over achieving, looks like staying up too late and sleeping in too late. My depression looks like anger. My depression looks like hiding or seeking. My depression is my constant companion telling me that no one actually wants me in their lives, so I just keep trying to find a place where I fit. Find a home in acceptance, validation in a story of unconditional friendship. My depression looks like unrealistic expectations.
My depression is a chemical imbalance that I am not supposed to talk about. My depression makes me undesirable. An undesirable mother, friend, daughter, wife. The sadness weighs more than the love, and it sits in my chest growing bigger and bigger each day. My sense of obligation keeps me alive, keeps me connected. My husband wonders why I volunteer for so many things, too many things. Things that I usually complain about doing when the time comes. It’s because I am depressed. If I had nothing tethering me to the community, to the earth, I think I might just float up and away and never come back. Accountability keeps me grounded. Keeps me trapped in reality, which is a better place to be I think than anywhere else.
I thought I would write funny things, hilarious commentary on motherhood and homeschooling. I thought I would write valuable things. I am sorry I didn’t.