Disenchanted Days

So... clearly I have a little problem with depression. Or maybe grief. Or both. Or being a stay-at-home-mom. Whatever the cause or sum of causes- I am a little bit tired of it. Right now Hunter is down the street at a preschool friend's house- so that I can bitch and moan while Graham naps.

Let's see... I've been pretty honest in my blogs about how I'm feeling- sort of down and like doing anything is a big production. I literally tell Jason at the end of the day if I've done any laundry, dishes, or anything else on top of general survival. Like it's a list of accomplishments to be medaled for. He responds like I deserve a medal, which has to be a bit ridiculous for him. "Yay! In your 9 hours at home you put dishes in the dishwasher and pushed start- wooooohoooooo!" He has NO idea how it feels to be me- and I don't want him to- but it does make me wonder what he thinks about the mopey mope that drags around the house all day.

Here's the thing- part of me is proud of myself. I know that for whatever reason- it takes all I have just to do the survival stuff, so to step up and do more- that's like climbing the second mountain. I have forced myself to do play dates, general outings, ridiculously cold walks, play game after mindless game with the kids, wake up, etc. I have some days that are easier than others. I am trying to do right by myself. I bought the light therapy box thing and I'm doing that every morning. I have allowed myself to be less than totally panicky about the status of our wrecked house. I have tried to stay slightly positive about the fact that I was sick, better for two days, sick again and then Jason got sick. I even let Jason sleep in two mornings- and that is like giving him an organ. He deserves it (he's up in the night more than I am some nights and he's now the sicky). I'm doing sit ups, wall push ups, squats in the shower- trying to remember to move when I can. I have meals planned that are healthy. I am making Graham baby food. I am doing ALL OF THIS SHIT and I'm tired. So so so tired. And over it. I want to stop working so hard to be normal. Especially since it's not really working. Basically I'm working hard so that everyone else is not as affected by my not normal.

There are so many rational explanations for why I feel the way I feel. Blue Winter. Grandmother died. "Newborn" who still gets up in the night occasionally. Husband who has erratic schedule. 3 year old who sucks the energy out of me. But here's the thing- that is life. A privileged life at that. If I can't make it work with a normal life- don't come see me when things actually go wrong.

I wonder why the hell Jason still is so madly in love with me. I mean honestly, I am so over me. If I were married to me- I would be really not happy with me... or at least frustrated beyond measure. Jason consistently extends grace and love- and although I know it to be genuine- I almost distrust it- because who is that patient? Who is that kind? I don't know if I would be.

All this mental illness PSA stuff out there saying it's a disease, a burden that shouldn't be shameful, etc- well- it doesn't actually make me feel any better. In fact, it just annoys me. Sure it's a "disease." The kind without a known cause, cure, and with ridiculous amounts of conflicting information around it. Helpful. I tend to get these kinds of "diseases." What's that scar on your neck from? Cue 10 minute explanation of the condition that has no name or description that makes any sense. What are your symptoms? Cue 5 minute description of weird things that exist in my body that are so much a part of me that I don't even know what is normal or not. Hearing aids- luckily that's pretty straightforward.... of course no one in the health care industry thinks my insurance should pay for the one clearly marked disability I have. Are you depressed? Maybe- well- I am now- but I'm not always... try again in 6 weeks. Think positive! What do you do? I'm a stay at home mom. OH that's SUCH a blessing....blah blah blah. OH- what a rut...blah blah blah.

I'm even starting to resent Graham for nursing. Not completely- but there are some times when he literally pinches the shit out of everything he can reach- my lips, neck, moles- everything. And I'm like, really? Can you please pretend to make this a connecting moment? I haven't been by myself without the kids for a long period of time in a WHILE. I would like to spend time with Jason- but what sadly sounds even more awesome is a silent retreat. By myself. With a journal. And tea and coffee. And good food prepared for me. And full nights sleep. No major physical strains. No coldness. I want to wear yoga pants and t-shirts and sit in the sun. With a breeze. What a princess introverted fantasy. It would be lovely. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would be lovely.

I feel like every time I begin to tap into something good- it gets poisoned. I mean literally, somebody dumps cyanide in it. I get disenchanted. Crash. High to low. Plans, dreams, excited movement halted.

And I see these people succeeding. Just easily succeeding. I know they worked hard. But they worked hard and accomplished something. I work hard and unload the dishwasher. It's defeating. It's frustrating. It's maddening. What do I really want to do anyway? Do I really want to become a chaplain? Or was I just looking for something ordained to do? I do want to write but I know I can't survive writing for the rest of my life in small, stolen spurts for no other reason than to get my thoughts on paper. I crave an audience. There it is- the vain truth. I don't want to write because I think it's a nice hobby. I want to write because I want to be transformative in the world.

The problem is - that - I am stuck at home wiping poop, nursing a pinching baby, sleeping for short stints of time and barely getting the mail inside. I live a conundrum. I want to connect with the world. Yet right now, I want no one to need me, because I keep disappointing myself and them. Just for a weekend, maybe.

And it's so. damn. cold.

All this is of course, to be taken with a mountain chunk of salt...or a half a bag of peanut butter m&ms, which I just consumed. They were on sale.