I am sad. So damn sad. And lonely. And anxious. And all the shitty stuff that goes along with the valleys of my moods. It hurts, I physically hurt. I have not slept well in weeks. My joints ache and my head pounds more often than not. I am not focused at all. Nothing has been done around this place in quite a while. It is messy, my house and my life.
August, in general, is not a great month for me. The monkeys get a little older. Summer ends and life gets busier. Another year passes since I held my dad’s hand as he left us. I don’t believe these things are the culprit, a chemical imbalance is, but they don’t help. They sit in my heart, weighing me down like the rocks the boys insist on collecting and shoving in their pockets. These rocks may slow them down but the boys would never give them up, “Them is our treasure, mama.” As are these things that weigh me down. My babies are healthy and smart and hella funny. They start school in a few days and I am so grateful for a great school system (and time to myself to be honest). Along with the pain of his passing comes a downpour of memories of my father and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
My depression is like a bad houseguest. The anxiety may stick around constantly but the depression often just shows up unannounced. It overstays its welcome, destroying my spirit and leaving me exhausted. It is both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. But it is always temporary so I march on despite it. I try my best to manuever around it. Be patient. Be still. Be busy. To try not to lose time. I listen to music. I find ways to be creative. Focus on how great the kids are and not on why I am scrubbing who knows what that is out of the carpet AGAIN. I let the extrovert side of myself shine a little brighter because it makes me feel better in times like these. I force a smile in public, not to hide but because it makes me feel better. I do my best to wait it out because it will pass. Until it does though, I will treasure those rocks in my pockets.