I woke up this morning at 8am. Which counts as sleeping in for me. I should have been able to bounce out of bed and hop in the shower. Instead I slowly dragged my ass out of bed, thanked the magical furnace for the fact my room wasn’t freezing for a change, and resisted the urge to start banging my head against the wall when I realized V was awake and wanting to get up.
That urge to bang your head when you’ve been awake less than 2 minutes is NEVER a good sign. But it’s a big sign for me. You see, I live in this fantasy world. A world of happy fairy dust. That would be the same world where I convince myself that I’m feeling so great I don’t need my anti-depressants anymore. Because, I’m doing better again. I obviously just needed more sleep. I wasn’t depressed after all. And so I don’t need to take that little pill once a day anymore. Because I. am. doing. AWESOME.
- Day One
- Feeling great! I’m on top of the world. Told you I didn’t need those stupid pills. Just more sleep. Sleep is GREAT! I’m GREAT! YAY ME!
- Day Two
- Hmmm… seem to be having a bit of an off day. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I just need some more coffee. Oooo… and chocolate. And maybe some Skittles. Cause who doesn’t love Skittles? And maybe just a bit more coffee. Definitely coming down with something. That must be it. But I. am. GREAT!
- Day Three
- You want me to get out of bed? Are you fucking kidding me? And if those god damn dogs don’t start barking I’m going to turn them into to fucking fur coats. Bark collars all around. That’ll fix you little bastards. And those fucking cats need to shut the fuck up. Oh great. No cat food. Dammit. Compose note to Bil telling him he better bring cat food home or I would chop him into little pieces and feed him to the cats. Cause really? How fucking hard is it to see we’re getting low on cat food and get more before we completely run out and the cats are meowing, meowing, and they won’t shut the fuck up and if his cat tries to chew that god damn plastic bag one more time I’m going to seriously shove my foot up her ass and use her as a slipper because she’s not good for much else. Re-read email. Edit it to ask Bil to pick up cat food on the way home. Hit send. Make Vista some breakfast. Ego waffles is about all I can manage this morning. Breakfast of champions. Someone give me a ‘Mommy of the year’ award. Put on Super Why for V and check the clock every 5 minutes to see if it’s time for her to go down for a nap yet. Get pissed off and yell at her to pick up her crayons after she throws them all over the room. Get pissed off and yell at her after she brings me her sippy cup and demands I take the lid off for the 18th time. Get pissed off and yell at her after she refuses to let me change her diaper. Get pissed off and yell at her after she goes to her blackboard in the kitchen and starts running her fingernails down it and wont stop. Get pissed off and yell at her after I tell her to get the fuck out of the kitchen and she lays down and throws a temper tantrum and I pick her up and bodily move her to the living room and slam the gate to the kitchen closed *insert a lot of screaming from both of us here*. Realize I am completely losing it. Make her a bottle and tell her to go to bed. Freak when she tries to climb into my bed. Pick her up, put her in her crib with her bottle, close the door. Go to my computer, turn on Twitter, send this tweet
Put the computer down, go into the bathroom and take my little pink pill. The one that makes me sane again. Then cry, and cry, and cry. Cry for being stupid enough to think I could go off of them. Cry because I hate having to take them. Cry at the realization that this is not going to change. Cry.
Cry because it only takes 3 days to prove how wrong I was. Three days to go from happy, great, awesome, loving life, to ‘I wonder what would happen if I just took the whole bottle’. Yeah. Three days between sanity and the fact I should probably be in a padded room. Three days between peace, calm, and happy harp music, to a rage so fierce I don’t know where it comes from and it scares me.
I woke up this morning and thought about blogging and wondered what to write about. I realized I had nothing to say and decided, maybe tomorrow. Then my brain imploded. If I could have picked my own topic, this wouldn’t have been it. I don’t like telling the world that there are days when I’m a crappy mom and a shitty wife and just generally a miserable person. I don’t like waving the “I take meds in order to pretend I’m somewhat normal” flag. But I do it because I know I’m not the only one. I know there is going to be someone else that reads this, goes to the cabinet, takes their meds, and realizes that *they’re* not the only ones. And that’s why I write.
PS. Bil, could you pick up some more Halloween candy on your way home? I may have cleaned out our stock of Reese peanut butter cups and Oh Henry bars this morning. Sorry about that.