In a Moment of Sheer and Utter Honesty

For most of my life, I have suffered a deep, slow, brooding kind of suffering. Internal struggles are a significant part of my daily routine. I spend most days wondering “what if,” wondering if X, Y, or Z was different, would I continue to suffer? If I had plenty of money, would I continue to feel guilty so often about nothing? If I had the perfect career, would I continue to regularly dislike myself? If I could be a stay at home mom and got involved in things I find meaningful, would I continue to have fledgling confidence?

Sometimes I wonder how the rest of the world sees me, especially when I don’t always do the right, most polite, or most sincere thing. Sometimes, I just don’t have the energy to do what I think is best. I often wonder if my friends worry about me or think, “oh, she’s just that way” or "Cathy's just always been like that." But I'm not "like that." Or at least I don’t want to be. I want to be the person I envision myself being, but I just seem to find it impossible to get there. Apparently, this is what this depression that afflicts all the women in my family is doing to me. Harnessing me, keeping me from getting up and living the exuberant life I want to live.

Every day I wake up tired.

I spend most of my days at work not liking myself, how I’m doing my job, or what I’m doing at all.

I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to change my life, but I never end up with any actual plans. Go back to school? Get another job? Hope to win the lottery? Whatever. It seems that no matter what changes, I’ll still live in this gray haze.

I am holding in tears and faking being well adjusted most of the day.

I feel like I’m becoming one of those angry and belligerent people who is never a pleasure to be around.

When I get home, for the most part, I don’t talk to my husband about my feelings. The only time it comes up is when I have a REALLY bad day, and I explode in a fit of tears and blame him for not caring about me. It’s completely irrational, wrong, and unfair, but it’s the way my feelings often express themselves.

I spend time with my son, and choke back tears much of the time I’m with him. The tears are partially because of my love for him and how truly wonderful he is, but mostly they are due to anger and sadness because I really only get to spend about 2 hours with him each day in the evening. Weekends are nice, but too short. (I know this is the same old working mom rant I continue to complain about, but it’s always nagging at me) I feel like I am missing his life and it totally pisses me off. I am jealous when he says “da da” and reaches for him instead of me. Now, I know that children go through mommy phases and daddy phases, but I don’t think it’s just coincidence that this started happening the week my husband started watching him each day at home.

I know that I am not alone in this thing called depression. I know that millions of people deal with it daily and millions of people seek treatment. My mother, sister, maternal aunts and grandmother ALL suffer from this disease and most are medicated for it. I used to think medication was not the answer; I thought my sister was weak for taking medication, but now I’m beginning to understand that for some, it might be necessary. I am ready to do something about it and quit denying that something might really be wrong with me. I’m ready to face the fact that I have been angry with myself and the world (for no reason really) for the past 20 years. I am ready to get on with life. Rather than imagining a brighter future or a someday when (fill in the blank with illogical desire here) happens, I want to find a way to feel satisfied with today and yesterday and look forward to tomorrow. I am on my way; the next step is treatment for this mean, nasty, and suffocating disease.