The last several weeks have been… difficult. As summer drew to a close, I found myself anticipating the beginning of school and some quiet time to myself once the kids were gone each day. For those first two weeks, I pounded through this house like a woman obsessed. I cleaned, dusted, scrubbed, organized, and entered the third week feeling in my element, convinced I had all my shit together.
I so don’t have any of my shit together. When you’re in the middle of a downhill slide, all you can do is feel the rush of the wind while trying to convince yourself that it’s fun and exhilarating. All the while, you’re avoiding staring at the pit at the bottom. You imagine that you can just sail over it to the next side and be OK.
I dropped straight down into that pit over Labor Day weekend and can’t quite figure out how to climb out.
Suicide has visited my circle of bloggers this week. I never knew Anastacia, but I knew that she inspired many of my online friends and that many of them are saddened and beyond grief-stricken. I was excited about meeting her this November when she was to join my paranormal group on an investigation and just the evening before, I had discussed her coming with another blogger friend. Then, the news. And my newsfeed was filled with grief and utter confusion. I have sadness for my dear friends who are grieving today and for the days to come because of the hole Stacy has left behind.
I’ve never contemplated suicide, the ultimate in disappearing acts, but I have thought about leaving. I confessed to Tyler just last month that I always have it in the back of my mind to take some money, pack up, and leave in the middle of the night. I’ll just disappear and that will be that. I think about this not because I can’t stand my family and want to leave them behind. I think about leaving because I constantly battle feelings of unworthiness, despair, and self-loathing. I think The people I love would be better off without me and because I have this all-encompassing fear of pain and botching the job and being horribly disfigured, I imagine leaving for parts unknown and desolate, giving my family and friends a chance to find someone more worthy to fill my absence.
That’s what it all comes down to. Worthiness. I’m not worthy of this life. I’m not worthy of this love. I’m not worthy of this job. I’m not worthy of this hug. I’m not worthy.
This long, slow decline into the pit of depression has been happening to me for quite a while. The bad days are outnumbering the good. I sit and wonder What do I want to be when I’m grown up? but the rub is that I’m already grown up. So, how do I decide what I want to be and then juggle the dream master’s degree, then the dream job, all while balancing the dream motherhood without further losing my mind? My worthiness? Should I just stay here and be a “supermom” who runs the daily carpool and homework drill and escapes to her closet each evening to cry? And would I be truly happy in a 9 to 5 environment again?
I don’t know.
I do know that I need a break. After a week-long anxiety-panic attack that left me wondering if my heart may just end it all for me, I went to my doctor and cried on her shoulder. I have, yet again, embraced the bottle of Zoloft and have a pending appointment with my counselor. Going along with my constant, negative inner-monologue is the outer-monologue I see everyday on social media and that monologue is more vitriolic than not. I have to admit that I probably have more than a passing obsession with everything having to do with Twitter/Facebook/Instagram and that’s not healthy. To constantly read and know the inner thoughts of other people all day, every day, is bad for my mental health.
I always say to myself I’m going to blog more. I’m going to write more. I’m going to call my friends more. I’m going to ______________ more. and I know I need to stop doing that because I’m just setting myself up for failure. I’m not going to put up a timeline or a promise here. Except for the promise that I won’t run away. I won’t disappear. I’ll still be here, with my family and my Zoloft, working through this morass of self-judgement and unworthiness. If any of you need me, you know how to find me. Just know that I’m looking up out of the pit and I see the light above. And I’m trying really hard to make it up there where the rest of you are.
(If someone you know and love is struggling with depression and you’re worried for them, or you’re struggling, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number is 1-800-273-8255. And remember. You’re not alone. We’re all in this together.)