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.

Totally unrelated:

These thighs.

Comments

  1. For you my heart aches. You are beautiful and lovely and I don’t even know you, but you are my favorite person I don’t know. You will get through this, through the darkness into the light. You will get pulled out by those amazing thighs of Vivi’s and those amazing curls of Addie’s. And of course Cody’s amazing arms.

  2. Your words have given me strength on so so so many days. I had a rough weekend too, but am doing better today, so I gift to you all of my Monday strength..it’s yours- I will be strong for you and only you on Tuesday. Wednesday we can share:) Feel better love, let it come ..it will when you are ready for it and the time is right..I know how hard it is, which is why all I can do is share on days when I am doing better. You will get through this.

  3. Michelle says:

    Praying for you all.

    And totally unrelated – my thighs look like that, but I’m 5′ and 45 yo, so they aren’t as cute! ;)

  4. Oh, Sweetie! You are in my thoughts and prayers. Sending you a big hug and a tsunami of White Light. When I’m in That Place, I hold onto the Winston Churchill quote: “If you are going through hell KEEP GOING.” xoxo

  5. Much love to you, my friend.

  6. Um, it kind of looks like Cody is peeing by the gallon in that picture.

    So, if you are short on kudos for yourself this week then please have one on me. Also feel free to print it out and put it in your self-nourishment jar for the low days.

    I was low, oh.so.****ing.looooowwwww, on the infertility cycle. I commented on one of your related posts. Dear Lord, it was like your post came out of my mind through your fingertips. You emailed me. You understood, you empathized, and you reached out through the interwebs to give me a love pat. And you don’t even really know me. You, Casey Mullins, have empathy, depth of emotions, and the ability to share that. Do you know how wonderfully unique that makes you? Do you know you touched me heart? Literally, you made me laugh and cry in one silly little email string. And YOU brought me UP. If there is anything I can do to return the favor, I will. Casey, you is smart, you is kind and you is beautiful. I’m so sorry to hear you’re in the dumper right now, and wish sunshiney days for you soon.

    The best part of that email, besides your humongous giving, sharing heart??? I commented that I just wanted to bang my head in frustration. You replied that if it was fertility I was after I should probably bang something else.

    You go, Girl! I’m here cheering you on. And, Dude, I typed all of this on an iPhone. That, right there, is Internet love. Get well soon.

  7. I’m so sorry you’re going through this right now. I’ve been in the thick of it many times myself. It sucks. I hope you feel better soon.

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