What's amazing about depression is that no matter how hard I try to keep a happy smile plastered on my face, how many things I write on my to-do list, or how many sections in my planner, it just stays right there under the surface, waiting for me to let my guard down. It comes for me when I really can't handle it--when I'm stretched so thin but everyone is depending on me to follow through even though I want to sit in bed and do nothing. It comes when I loosen my grip on my planned-to-the-minute schedule, or when I slip up and eat something special like an extra piece of fruit for the week and then I completely stop losing weight (yes, metabolic disorders are that tricky to deal with.) It comes when the kids are having a rough week, or when the doctor recommends therapy and a specialist for the kid you thought wasn't like his brother and why does this keep happening but other people have it so much worse than you so get a grip and you resent yourself for even thinking these thoughts because it's so wrong but it's so hard not to.
The thing I hate about depression the most is that I can feel it coming on, but I'm powerless to stop it. I can blame it on hormones, or food that I eat, or just circumstances, but that doesn't make it go away. It doesn't stop food tasting like glue, or my kids' voices sounding like nails on a chalkboard; their sticky little hugs like torture. It doesn't stop the feeling that I'm not good enough. Like I shouldn't be who I am, or have what I have. That I shouldn't be married to this amazing guy who provides so well for our family because some people I know can't even buy groceries this week and others can't pay their mortgage but I can so why am I complaining?
I want to buck up. I want to go with the flow. I want to ignore it when someone takes advantage of me and asks me for even more because others don't have any to give and I'm so fortunate that I have more to spare. But I'm tired. I want a break.
This week can suck it. Tomorrow's a new day.