Is It Time?
It’s been a bad few weeks. From feeling like the vilest evil was living in my gut to how I feel right now, it may be time to admit that this is not going to get better on its own. It may be time to admit that I just can’t do this anymore.
I don’t know where my life is going anymore. All I do is work and take care of the kids. The small amount of pleasure in my life was something that was hurting me. Sean’s mom and I went shopping and got pizza today. Shane and I went over there to eat and Sean and I barely interacted. We did a bit, but whatever we had was dead. I don’t understand what happened. He just disappeared on me and it seems that this time, it is for good. Making out with Sean was the one bright spot in my life. He helped me forget because my brain just shut completely off when he touched me. I could forget.
Now I can’t forget. I can’t forget how miserable I am and how I think I’m failing at everything. Serenity is once again having panic attacks. Liam has been getting more and more angry and lashing out at all of us. Shane is still Shane.
I feel like I’m drowning and failing these kids. I’m gone 45 hours a week and I don’t feel like a good parent anymore. By the time I get time off on the weekends, I’m so exhausted from surviving the weekdays that I don’t have the energy to
I dread the weekends. It’s just another form of work for me. Work to take care of the kids, do laundry, grocery shop for the week, clean the house, keep the kids from killing each other, and to remember that I have absolutely no life outside of work and the kids.
I’m staring into the abyss. I’m looking at everything I’ve fought through and I see how hard the climb has been and I’m just so sick of it. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to stop hurting all the fucking time. I want all the shit that I’ve been shoveling from Bubba and the family to just go away.
I think it is time to admit that there is a great possibility that I’m depressed. I think it is time to admit that maybe I need help in the form of an anti-depressant.
It feels almost like a failure. *I* can’t fix this. *I* can’t will myself better. *I* am not strong enough. I know this is grossly inaccurate and it is left over shit, but it is there. The feeling that I’m just not enough, not good enough. I hear the voices in my head telling me to pray more, to do more, to do better, to give more. I know they are the voices of the Ghosts of Abuses Past but I can’t exorcise them. I can’t make them shut up and go away.
Everything in me hurts. Everything in me feels alone. Everything in me feels broken. It feels like the glue I’ve used to patch my life together is failing and the pieces are just falling down around me. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my hand holds and I’m sliding back into the pit. At this point I don’t have the strength or the will to stop the free fall. I just don’t care.
I am struggling with even considering an anti-depressant because it feels like even more failure piled up onto everything else I’m failing at. I’ve made it this far. I made it through The Incident, the leaving, filing for divorce, losing my family, getting through the divorce, and the countless onion layers I’ve worked through to now come to the point where I need to ask for meds? It just seems so wrong. What I’m going through now seems so much less than what I’ve been through before yet now I think I need meds?
Mabye I’m just tired. Maybe I just found the straw that broke this camel’s back. Maybe I’m just done fighting.