Depression is a sneaky little bitch. I started taking an anti-depressant three weeks ago against my better judgement, and I feel like I'm numb. It's like I'm on auto-pilot or something. Even though I don't feel sad, I can still feel the weight of it in my chest. I'm not blaming the pills, I'm blaming myself.
Am I the only one that can manage to stay actively depressed even on an anti-depressant? I'm blasting myself with insults and negativity at a disgusting rate. I'm useless. I can't do anything and even when I try, it's wrong. I feel like my husband hates me and I'm seeking out evidence through his actions that he regrets our marriage and having children with me.
My blog isn't getting much love and I've convinced myself that it's because I suck. What was I thinking starting these projects? Sober Mommies was supposed to be a wonderful thing and I feel like I'm ruining it. I don't post enough, I don't promote enough, there aren't enough hours in the day.
When I'm on a roll with blogging, my family suffers. When I'm Super SAHM, everyone in the house is happy except me. I've worked for what feels like my whole life and as much as the stay at home thing is way more work than I remember program management being, there's so much more pressure involved; like the suffocating kind of pressure. These kids, these tiny lives, are my responsibility. I made mistakes at work and I sat down with my mentor and worked them out. I make a mistake at home and I sit with my guilt and beat myself up.
We're supposed to do better than our parents did with us, right? Well, for those of us that had less than pleasant childhoods, it's imperative. If I had known for sure that history was to repeat itself I think I would have opted not to have children. That sounds terrible, doesn't it? My house was a confusing, unsafe, and inconsistent place. I never knew what to expect or when the shit would hit the fan, and I trained myself to act accordingly. Years of therapy has me still working out the trauma. It's tricky...and it's yucky. Half the time I'm dragging myself to my appointment because 80% isn't interested in being poked. Understandable sure, but shitty all the same because I must live with what I don't deal with.
Sometimes I feel like totally ill-equipped for this position because of lack of training. There was no orientation or grace period. There was no, "Let's try it out and see if it's a good fit" for this job. What if it's not a good fit? What if I'm incapable of providing the kind of structure and stability that these kids need? Some days I feel like I'm parenting by braille.
Go ahead and ask my teenager how awesome I am. She'll tell you that I'm the worst mother on Earth. Sometimes I believe that she feels that way because I'm a good mother to her, but other times her words strike me right in the chest.
I'm struggling today and if I'm honest, I've been struggling for a long while. I can fake it like nobody's business because I have a lifetime of practice. I suck at asking for help, but I'm even worse at accepting it. I love the illusion of control or something. It makes it a lot easier to kick the shit out of myself when things get all fucked up.
PTSD is no joke and Dissociative Disorder makes it all the more interesting.
I'm so fucking tired.
Do you know what it's like to need to look all put together all the time; to have people tell you that your life looks perfect on the outside, and be screaming at the top of your lungs on the inside?
It fucking sucks.