Depression smells like waffles, because that’s what Cody makes for everyone when I’m too sad to function.
Tonight was supposed to smell like barbeque, fresh peas and watermelon.
But sad won.
I haven’t lost it completely, I haven’t broken down into that terrible ugly cry that requires a dozen tissues and causes your eyes to hurt for the next 24 hours. But I did just catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it doesn’t look good.
This hurts really bad, and when I’m out of it I can appreciate that this is my trial. That I am strong enough to make it through each episode in one piece and use my experiences to help others.
When I’m out of it for a long time I can always brush it off as “not that bad.”
“It could always be worse.”
But shit, when I’m in it.
I forgot how bad this hurts.
Words can still make it out of my fingers, but when they try to come out of my mouth they get trapped, confusing and tear stained.
There’s no easy way out. There’s no pill. There’s no nap long enough. There’s no shot. There’s nothing in the world that can fix this but time.
The thought of being one on one with both little girls all day tomorrow terrifies me. Addie hasn’t really seen me like this since I was pregnant with Vivi.
I talk with her often about my brain, and how hard I work to keep it working well.
Tomorrow I’m going to have to try to explain that my brain won this round.
Or I’m going to have to fake it and lie.
It’s so hard knowing people are going to need me tomorrow when I can barely function myself.
I don’t know how Cody loves this. How he continues to fight so hard for me when I can’t fight for myself.
When I’m like this I see nothing worth fighting for. Who’s to say the real me is coming back?
The biggest difference between me now and me eight years ago is I know there’s something, somewhere inside me worth fighting for.
Even if I can’t see it.
It’s what keeps me floating above self harm. I know it’s down there, but I know it won’t make things better.
So I sit here sad, knowing this isn’t my fault, and working to get better.
(And when I say “working to get better” it means not resorting to drinking heavily and letting my kids wander around the neighborhood alone. Go me.)
I don’t want to be friends with myself right now.
So hopefully you’ll understand why I don’t answer my phone or my door.
I’ll be okay, probably not today. Or tomorrow. But eventually.
There’s something to be learned in all this pain.
And I know it’s worth sticking around long enough to find out what it is.