What I Tell Myself on Tough Days as a Mother With Depression
One day at a time.
One day at a time.
This is what I tell myself over and over. Does it help? Not really. Has it become my way of tricking myself into believing I’ll be OK? Absolutely.
I try so hard to stay on top of this illness. I tell myself I can do it. Hell, I’ve been doing it half my life already, I know I’ve got this. I’ll keep taking my meds every single day. I’ll avoid situations that make me feel unhappy or anxious. I’ll surround myself with people who love me and uplift me. And then bang. It smashes into me like a tidal wave. It hits me so hard. Sometimes I feel it coming. It creeps up slowly over a few days or maybe even a week or two.
I start slowing down. I start losing motivation. I start avoiding people and become quiet. I can feel it now. A lump in my throat. I sit and try to smile when my son looks up at me from where he is happily playing. I never want him to see me like this. My head spins as I look at the clock and count how many more hours I have to make it through the day until I can retreat to the safety of my bed. My head spins as it tells me I am ungrateful. What do I have to be depressed for? I have a loving husband, a beautiful son, family and friends. I have a pretty amazing life. And I know that. But my depression doesn’t seem to care for that at all. It tells me to give up, you’re never going to beat me, you’ll never win. Some days I truly believe that is the case. Some days I am so bloody sick of fighting.
But I have gotten this far. I will get further. I will take one day at a time. I will take my medication every day. I will fight this to the very end.
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Thinkstock photo via MarinaZg