Fragile

I wrote this a couple of days ago. I debated on whether or not to make it public. And then I thought, why the hell not? This is my diary. And maybe posting this will help some of the people who read my diary normally understand where the hell I’ve been lately. So, I’m posting it.

I feel fragile. My mind and body both are incredibly delicate. I feel week. I can’t seem to get the energy I need to just get through the day. And my mind, it’s like a thin sheet of glass. Insanity is on the other side beating on it. If it keeps pounding away, the glass will shatter and there will be no holding it back. I’m afraid of what is on the other side of the glass.
 
Maybe it’s not glass. I already feel the pull of what is on the other side. Its hands scratching at me and leaving bloody wounds on my already injured psyche. Maybe it’s more like some sort of membrane; merely a soap bubble allowing some of the insanity to partially escape, but never fully releasing it.
 
I know it’s coming for me. I see it and feel it. I don’t even know what “it” is, but I know that it’s coming. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid I won’t survive it. Oh, I’ll continue to live, but will I be me? Or will the insanity take over and force me to lose everything?
 
And what’s worse? I’m afraid to talk to my doctor. I don’t want to be looked down upon as somebody who cannot cope with just the day-to-day life. I have it good, you know. I am financially stable, I have a loving husband and two beautiful boys, I work at a secure job; and all that rot. What pressures do I have that make life so un-copable? Nothing, I am living the sweet life. And if the doctor does prescribe pills, will I feel? Will I still be able to be creative? Will I be able to write? Will I even care about it? The writing is who I am, if I don’t do that anymore, what will become of me? What’s more, if I don’t care about it, will it matter?
 
I used to not understand those stupid commercials. The one with the wind-up toy where somebody with depression finds it hard to wind up every day and several times a day just to function. Or the one where the depressed people blend into their surroundings; blending into things like the wallpaper and a chair. And the one with the angry depressed woman yells at her kids and the man can’t get out of his bed to play catch with his son and the announcer says, “depression hurts.”
 
I get them now.
 
And I don’t even really want to talk about it. I make comments about it being seasonal depression. And I know that’s partly true. But the honest answer is, I’m like this much of the time. The sun and warm air just take the edge off for me; make it just that much more bearable.
 
This weekend is supposed to be nice. Sunny and with temps back up in the 50’s. I’m hoping it helps. I plan on spending as much time as possible in the sun. I need the sun.
 
And, Monday I’m making a doctor’s appointment. I know I can’t carry on the way I am. I have no choice. I’m going to lose my family and my job. Yesterday (Wednesday night), Nathan had to stop me from belittling Evan (my 3 year old) in public. Once he did, I realized what I was doing and tried hard to keep it together until we left. I put on my happy face and played nice with the boys much of the evening. It was an act. I wanted desperately to just hide in my room. But, I spend a lot of my time hiding in my bedroom so I DON’T yell at my kids. I don’t want them to remember me as a bad mother who does nothing but yell and belittle. I’d rather them remember me as not involved than that. Maybe if I take the “happy drugs,” I’ll be able to be involved.
 
Depression hurts.