Some days I’m busy and happy and impatient and exhausted and have 87 things to do. Some days I pull it off and get in my bed and go right to sleep and wake up and do it again. Some days I cry and yell and get frustrated and fight with my husband and call my best friend a lot. Some days I buy a five dollar coffee and get whipped cream and some days I eat all the right things instead. Some days I feel like I’ve been just surviving for the past four years in diapers and bottles and nursing and budgeting and endless grocery store trips.
And some days I’m sinking.
I’m sinking right now. And I can’t sleep and I’m crying. And nothing about my life is terrible but some days it’s unbearable. I’m unbearable. Why can’t I be happier and why can’t I think myself better and why can’t I still want to have sex even if I’m taking an anti-depressant and then why do I stop taking them just so my husband will still love me and why do I keep yelling at my beautiful children. And why in fucking god’s name do I watch an Oprah show about how to be a more present parent when I feel like this and then I feel worse and obviously my children are great but do they deserve better than me. How could I want them so awfully bad and then lose my fucking mind at them for spilling bubbles on the floor.
And some days I feel so terribly alone in it. My husband doesn’t understand and thinks I’m addicted to being depressed and I don’t even know how that’s a thing. I don’t want to talk to my friends about it anymore because who wants to listen to you being sad all the time and from the outside it’s all great. And really from the inside it’s great too, just not on my inside. Are neurotransmitters real and can they be fixed and are they really even broken. Some days I don’t know anything. I hope to know more tomorrow.