Thursday, August 16, 2012

feel free to skip this one.

i was going to begin with “if you’ll allow me to indulge myself for a moment…”

but then, i realized, blogging is nothing if not inherently self-indulgent.
hi, here’s my pantry i organized. and my picture i painted. and my skirt i sewed. now praise me. and dance for me! (whip crack)

be that as it may, this is my space for self-indulgence, and so i shall. it’s quick Brain Check Time, and the forecast is looking rather grim these days.

oh look, the poor little suburban white mommy has the sadz. let’s all boo-hoo for her.

and there it is. the inner dialogue that depression takes on. the running soliloquy that follows your every move—that judges your every thought—dropping by for a quick kidney shot. oh, did you think you’d get out of bed and DO something? why bother. nothing is worth it. just go back to bed.

it’s like having your very own creepy stalker. except one that can read your mind. and doesn’t want to steal your panties so much as just beat you down emotionally. but other than that—totally like a stalker.

we’re solidly in the dog days of summer. the frenzy of june and july has given way to too many days in the house. too many days cleaning the same dishes, vacuuming the same floors, folding the same laundry, stopping the same sibling battles. too hot and far too mosquito-y to enjoy any outside time. trigger #1—getting too stuck in a rut. i know it. but i can’t really help it. this is the minutiae of life—the things that need doing daily. the job i signed up for 13 years and 10 months ago. 

i feel like a drowning person clinging to the thought that in 2 weeks we start anew—the school year begins! it’s a new schedule, a new beginning! change is in the air—the change of seasons and the cooler air like a balm to my depression addled mind.

but then my stalker returns…why do you think that this school year will be better? you always start out so upbeat, and 4 weeks in it’s lateness and screaming and mismatched socks and unbrushed hair and rushing out the door. and you know what else? while we’re talking—your kids are HEALTHY you ungrateful swine. you have friends all around you who’s children are sick and facing surgery and you’re sitting here depressed???!? pathetic.
p.s.—you’re fat.

i’m lulled into total inactivity. although, that’s not entirely true. my newly downloaded marble shooter game gets a lot of action. (level 78—WHAAA?!?!) it’s mindless and repetitive and doesn’t ask me for anything.

it’s the weirdest thing. i simultaneously want to go for a jog, and eat a dozen donuts. i want to crawl into bed, and hop a plane to somewhere—anywhere.

i’m not sleeping. 2 AM has become my mistress these days. then i finally fall into a fitful sleep and in the morning i beg off mothering, if that’s even a thing you can do. and i’m pretty sure you can’t.
feed the baby a waffle. put on sesame street. mommy doesn’t feel good. let me sleep, i tell the older ones.

and i hate it. i hate that i say that. that i did that. that i’m telling you that now. that i spent more hours of my day today either asleep or playing stupid computer games than i did interacting with my children.

so i have guilt. trigger #2. and i sleep too late so i can’t sleep so i sleep too late so i can’t sleep…vicious messed up sleep cycle. trigger #3.

the day goes by in a blur of sitting. and sitting. then getting up and loading the dishwasher. and sitting back down. and thinking hey, maybe i’ll go sew something. you like sewing, right? go—sew! or…just sit here. because…why not? what difference does it make anyway.
and then night comes and jeremy comes home and i look at the sum total of my accomplishments for the day and in my eyes they equal precisely ZERO. trigger #4.

and i get frantic. grasping at whatever i think will help me conquer this get over this climb out of this pit. and i’m haunting target at 10:30 at night with greasy hair and a ratty t-shirt, throwing $150 worth of whatever into my cart because hey, why not? maybe it will make me feel better. but even as i’m paying i’m tucking the receipt carefully in my bag knowing i’ll probably return half of it.

jeremy, to his credit, allows me my retail therapy. whatever will help he’s there for. and if a new fruit basket is what my stalker demands at the moment jeremy is totally on board. (seriously, it’s a cute fruit basket)

i texted him this afternoon. i can feel it coming, i say. i’m slipping down and i don’t know how to stop it and i HATE it. so he comes home from work and climbs into bed with me. and doesn’t get annoyed or angry when i have no idea what’s for dinner. because i started looking for something but then i remembered i didn’t buy broccoli. and then i wandered away.

long periods of time pass where i’m just staring.

shake it off, shannon. shake it off.

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