The Words Spill Out (I Can’t Control Them)
Depression and the new job—home-making mother.
So many “I’s” leave my lips and fingertips, but I no longer feel guilty or selfish for them. I am who I am and I’m learning to accept it.
Learning to accept it.
This may feel like the longest year of my life. Longer than the two years I spent unable to stand for but a few minutes at a time. Longer than the three and a half years spent in complete distress over my dying mother.
I don’t know where I am right now. I feel stuck.
I wrote in my journal the other day:
I’m in a whirlwind again, swirling around past the same things over and over, unable to focus —unable to break free.
He doesn’t understand, he couldn’t.
I’m not cut out for this. I don’t want to sacrifice my time, my creativity to be a homemaking mother. For what? To save money to move faster? At just a few weeks in, I’m wishing I never agreed to this — I’m wishing I never suggested this.
Things will be better once we’re out of here.
When will that be?
It’s already certain that there will be a year without childcare, a year away from the family support system who could take the kids [for free] so we can spend time, alone, together.
The thoughts cloud my mind, fog my judgment.
Things will get better. They will.
Do “things” ever get better when you’re constantly blanketed with depression?
Reading about others, how their depression made them numb—I remember being numb at one point. Before kids, before a husband, before the whole family situation. Now I hope for numbness since the moods rarely rise on hollow prayers I just don’t believe in.
I pray the emotions will cease.
I write and cry and the tears stream down my face, cooling by the time they hit my blouse and settle onto my chest. All the things, the simple things which brought me joy start to feel monotonous.
I was happy to clean the house the first week, now, why?
They’re just going to mess it up again.
I can’t stop crying. Why does trying to be a good mother and wife, making those responsibilities and commitments my priority — why is it so depressing to me? Why does it drain me of everything that used to be satisfying?
Shouldn’t my family make me happiest?
It’s not them, it’s me…
I need more time yet I wish time would speed up. I’m tired of waiting for a new, better life when this one just withers then loops.
I took childcare for granted. I took everything for granted.
Now it’s gone. Now I’m trying to write something that makes sense and I can’t shake the self-pity.
My fiction falters. There’s no time to focus so it comes out a jumble of bullshit that makes no sense — I can’t put the pieces together in my own mind, the ones on the page aren’t getting any clearer, either.
And now my personal musings slip, just the same.
I’m whining. All I can think about is how much I want out of this.
I should be loving these moments.
I know five years from now I’ll look back at these moments with my youngest daughter, those moments of helping the older two with homework and snuggling on the couch—and I’ll regret not enjoying them more.
I’ll regret wishing I could go out and write and work and just be alone, calming my mind that only seems to drown me in thoughts if I’m not writing them down.
That’s all I want right now.
Maybe it’s the menopause or my inability to be outside here — my favorite place to be.
That’s the point of a thirty-two hundred mile move.
But what happens when we do?
Will I miraculously become a great wife and mother and homemaker who happily helps her children with homework and washes dishes and cooks meals for kids who refuse to eat it?
Will all this become more satisfying when I can can go outside and enjoy nature again?
Does everyone think too much..?
A note from Sara:
If you can’t tell, things have been emotionally trying for me.
I’ve been off anti-depressants for about five months now and it’s been a rollercoaster of emotions.
I’m sure things will get better with time and a dedication to making the best of the time I have. I just need to find a new schedule, a new day-to-day that not only makes me happy but satisfies the people I love.
My journal entries start to look the same after a while.
…not enough time.
I feel like the days are just flying by.
Got a lot of personal work done but not enough writing and editing.
I know what’s going wrong, I know I need to focus on working smarter and changing my outlook.
Things I used to rely on medication to regulate need to be managed on my own now.
I can do it, I know I can.
Thanks for reading.