Crisis Over

 I always feel like a whiny little baby after one of my episodes. I want to kick myself for getting depressed and letting it get the best of me. I never want to get to the point where I need medication, so I deal with it and move on. I work hard to get through my "episodes" because I am so afraid of never coming out of one. I have a husband and child to care for and I don’t ever want to NOT be there for them. One would think you could just Not be depressed, but it’s not so simple. It comes out of nowhere, this crushing sadness, the inability to muster a smile, the inability to gather the strength to comb your hair, brush your teeth, shower, or even put on clothes. It’s a miracle if you even get out of bed. The smallest things can send you hiding within yourself where all you want to do is cry and cry until you can’t breathe. My husband is truly my rock, I think of him and how selfish it would be to leave him alone after I promised him I wouldn’t, I think of how lonely he would be, how he would be left wondering if there was something he could have done. I think of leaving him to raise our daughter all on his own and how unfair that is. I think about my baby girl and how it feels to grow up without a mother, someone to teach her how to be a woman, someone to sing to her at night, and brush her hair, and teach her about make up, and talk about boys or girls, and dreams and whatever. I made a promise to care for them and I mean to keep it. 

So here I am, the day after a serious battle, feeling fine and a little silly. I went to work, I did some Christmas shopping, and I worked out. I am good.

My family seems to be coming around, they are now directly inviting me to the get-togethers, which to most is not a big deal, but usually everyone around me gets the invite and I get the invite by proxy, I finally get my own invitations to me and my family, it is a special thing, kind of like the first time my aunts and uncles acknowledged me as a legitimate niece. It only took 20 years but they did. I was literally the black sheep of the family, not in the bad family member sort of way, but in the “I’m black adopted by a white lady and her white family kind of way.” My mom was adopting black kids before Angelina Jolie made it cool, LOL. Anyways so these small things mean a lot to me. 

So I think I’m okay, for now, no impending break downs and I’m getting back into the holiday spirit and remembering what the holidays mean to me.

Merry Christmas everybody 

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