Weeks like this are enough to make me pull my hair out. Actually, earlier this morning that is what I was trying to do. I was pulling on my hair hoping it would come out in my hand and some of the frustration I was feeling would magically disappear, perhaps it would float out of the empty hair follicles?
Like the title for this blog states: sometimes I don’t think I’m fit to be part of the human race, or at the least, that I’m not fit to be part of a human clan. I should be shut off from everyone and everything, left to my own devices until I either ‘get over it’ (how I hate that fucking term, but it is all I can think of) or finally do lose the plot and get carted off in a straight jacket.
Rationally I know I’m not insane, that a straight jacket isn’t in my future – BUT – weeks like this I feel like I’m just one little step away from being locked up and the key being thrown away. Perhaps into a volcano. Or the core of the sun. Somewhere as hot as a mofo, that would dissolve the key.
I can’t even explain what is wrong or why I feel this way.
Am I sad? I dunno. Maybe. I miss my parents and my sister. (Yeah, now sit me watch and cry with those words out on virtual paper)
Am I angry? Not really, well, only with myself.
Am I upset about something-in-particular? No. If there was something that was making me upset I would be able to fix it, this funk would have disappeared almost as soon as it began.
I tried to explain it to Lauriel yesterday, the best I could come up with was
Nothing specific, my blood just feels thick and I can’t breathe and my brain is cloudy and something is clutching at my throat
Nothing specific. Sure. How the hell can ‘nothing specific’ turn me into a complete and utter bitch? I have a horribly short temper, I don’t know if I’ve said a nice word to the kids all week (okay, I have, a lot, but it doesn’t feel like it), I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to stay at home, I don’t laugh at things I’d normally laugh at.
I just feel tense. Wound up. Tight. Hyper-sensitive.
Sound. Sound is doing my head in. Literally. The constant chatter of the kids, the music they play on their tablets, the singing they do, the hovering, the- all our kids do is talk and make noise!
I hate myself for finding the above annoying – they are bloody kids – it’s what they do! It’s what they are meant to do, it is what they are allowed to do, it’s what kids have done for hundreds of thousands of years! They talk, they laugh, they sing, they ask, the whine, they giggle… and here I am, cringing and clenching my jaw, wishing like hell they would just shut the f**k up.
I’m like the fucking grinch right now.
What makes it worse is that it hasn’t been a one day thing, it has been the whole week. I know it is probably caused by stress (money related), cabin fever (we have been stuck at home a lot due to being down one car and having a kiddo with a fractured ankle) and good ol’ hormones (seriously, you’d think evolution would have made hormones easier to deal with?). Even though I know that, no matter how hard I try to force myself out of this funk, I can’t.
Even as I’m telling myself ‘calm down’, I am getting angry because of Bruno Mars or Taylor Swift playing from a bedroom, or because of a child asking for the fiftieth time if it is lunchtime yet, or because a fly keeps landing on my ankle, or because the wind is blowing a certain way (actually, I lie, there has been bugger all wind lately!)…
Irrational. That’s me right now.
I KNOW it is going to go away, that it’s not a permanent thing… but that doesn’t make being in the middle of it any easier.
What I’m most ashamed of is that it’s my kids suffering. They didn’t ask for a mother with mental health problems! Perhaps it’s harder because most of the time I DO feel fine, in fact, I have felt better over the past six months than I have in years… but getting used to feeling good means that when I feel bad, I feel really, really bad.
Tell me how it is fair that ‘healing’ or ‘recovering’ or ‘whatever’ from depression can leave you feeling worse than when you AREN’T dealing with it?
Before I sign off, I feel the need to share this video again, all about a big black dog… the perfect metaphor for depression