Lately I’ve been wondering whether I’m depressed or just tired. Is one a symptom of the other, or are they totally unrelated? Either way, I’ve been holding my head just barely above water for the last few weeks.
Parenting is tedious business, made ever more challenging when you’re wandering around like a zombie and staring at the clock so that maybe it will see you and move just a little bit quicker.
If only that would actually work.
I’m not sure if it’s a lack of balance, the stark reality of loneliness, or the nagging reminder that I haven’t had actual fun in a very long time. Sure. It’s fun to play chase with my daughter, and bounce my son high in the air as he laughs heartily.
But that “let-go-no-care-in-the-world-laugh-til-you-just-about-pee-yourself” fun is a distant memory. With friends, with family, with spouse. It’s cleaning, cooking, wiping, and crying.
And not sleeping.
I’ve never thought in all my years of tragedies and challenges that I was depressed. Okay, once I figured out that I was, but I just pulled myself up by my boot straps, or at that time, really sexy boots with no straps but great heels, and went on with life. But now, I’m digging out a little slower, swimming a little less energetically, and my will for trying to find that place where I’m thankful and appreciative for my surroundings is waning.
Does a pill make you believe you’re good enough? Do those drugs make you optimistic? Does altering your chemical imbalance with something artificial make you just smile and nod because you just can’t fight any longer?
Does it make my husband more empathic and understanding?
If so, then I’ll take them. In large doses.
I want to be happy without having to make myself be that way. I want to smile because of the goodness I see in my world. And I want my kids to see the wonderful person I know that I am, without the rainy cloud always following me around.
Or maybe I just need sleep.