Friday, May 27, 2011

Writing Is A Good Thing

I have to say I am terrified that I put this out there.  I am so thankful for the kind thoughts that have been shared.  It eases my fear a little bit to know that not everyone is scared off by me and my crazy ;).

I had a good day.  I got the kitchen cleaned and babysat for a really cute baby.  I cleaned the tub too!  I hate cleaning the tub.  Does anyone actually like cleaning the tub?  If you do I would love to become really good friends so you can come over and clean my tub.  It really should be done more than once a quarter, don't you think?

I was thrilled to discover last night that writing still helps.  I used to write a lot.....B.C. (Before Children).  It is therapeutic and all those negative thoughts are not in my head anymore.  I don't hate myself today and that is all I need to know right now.

P.S.  I am a bit annoyed though that we seem to have skipped Spring here in New England and gone straight to hot, humid Summer.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

I Hate Myself

Sometimes I hate myself so much it is totally consuming. I hate the kind of wife I am, the kind of mother I am, the kind of friend I am. I could keep listing but you get the point. The sadness I feel seems to come from some outside source and I feel like I need to be comforted and the person that wronged me needs to pay. Then, I remember that it's me that has done this to myself and that is where the self-loathing comes from.
I have so much I want to be and do. I see a path that I am supposed to follow that will lead me to these great things. I wake up most mornings with a great plan in my head. I want to finally get caught up on laundry, finally get that mudroom done, paint the chairs I got for the dining room. I want to fix nutritious meals for my children. Play, color and read with Lucy. Go for a walk with my dogs. Clean the garage, clean my car. I am excited to choose from all of these wonderful things. Then it happens. I can't even describe it. It's is like when a water balloon gets a pin hole in it and slowly but forcefully all the water leaks out.
Fixing a snack for Lucy feels like the equivalent of the effort it would take to run a marathon. I want to sleep and I hate myself for wanting to sleep. It doesn't make me feel better it just makes me not feel. As long as I am awake I am aware of all the things that I am not doing. The little things and the big things. The little things I already spoke about, the big things bring me too much sorrow and self-loathing to even talk about in detail. I know I was not meant to be this person. The person I was meant to be is encrusted in layers of depression and hatred.
The depression is not me but it has me under it's control. I can't win because every time I break through it becomes stronger. You're not the only one who thinks I should stop feeling sorry for myself, I think it too. (Enter more self-loathing.)
I want to shout out to everyone who will listen (and even louder to those who won't) that I am ill. This is a sickness. A real, I have no control over it, sickness. Then I wonder if I'm just a lazy, fat girl who could control it if I really wanted to.