We All Just Need A Fucking Break

 Today I have been extremely low. When I am depressed I feel worthless and ashamed of everything human about myself—everything that makes me who I am. I listened to the same song on repeat for 4 hours straight and it still wasn't enough. I talked to an old friend, which felt comforting but also made me sad,  because I don't want them to go away again. I want to be enough for someone to stick around for. I am enough now, but the depression makes me feel as though I am standing in a separate room, deep under water, with fluorescent lighting on the walls and ceiling while wearing a scratchy wool sweater that is one size too small. This was a terrible day. I wish that I knew how to be around people. I hate being the person that I am sometimes. I feel that the world does not understand me, and I try too hard to force it to. But you cannot make anyone do anything. And you cannot make the sun rise any sooner than it is already designed to (but you can make a cat chase a laser—so maybe I need to check Amazon). My daughter broke curfew so I punished her for tomorrow. I was afraid she would shut down and be angry with me all night. I was standing in the kitchen sobbing next to the microwave while my leftovers heated, and she was talking to me from the other room and laughing about the cat. She walked into the kitchen mid-sentence, stopped, and said, "Oh, no! Poor baby!" and hugged me and cradled my head with her hand, and about 30 seconds later she pulled away and kissed my cheek. I'm not sure I've ever had anyone show such kindness and tenderness towards me. And the fact that she did this even after I punished her makes me even more overwhelmed. There is so much to question in this life. Religion. Politics. Humanity. Friendship. Romance. How to make banana bread that actually tastes good and not all bitter and gross like my previous two attempts. I just need a break. We all just need a fucking break. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It Means Freedom

I wiped tears from my cheeks as I walked into the grocery store. It had been an extraordinarily difficult day at work. I was working the weekend at my second job, a way to make ends meet and feign hope in getting ahead financially. I passed several patrons in the grocery aisles on my way to find oat milk. I saw the shredded cheese and remembered my daughter asked for kielbasa sausage. My mind was in a fog. I was there, purse hanging from my shoulder, cradling the milk in the crevice of my elbow like a newborn baby, a bag of pre-shredded cheddar cheese pinched between my thumb and index finger. How do you decide which way to go when you're too tired to figure out dinner? I did the next thing. I found the kielbasa. Then I did the next thing. I walked to the cash register. The man at the register glowed with kindness. He was child-like—a sparkle of wonder flashed in his eyes. "Do you like oat milk?" he asked as he scanned the barcode. "Yes, I like to drink it in my coff
Read more

When I Was A Kid

I had a friend who lived a couple houses down. Her name was Jules, and we would make mud pies and play in my parents' back yard. One day she came to the front door and knocked, holding a black trash bag in her left hand. I was excited to see her and wanted to know what was in the bag. She wouldn't answer—only asked me to get my dad. I was disappointed that she wouldn't show me. My dad told me later that our cat died. Got run over. Jules saw it and scooped it into the trash bag. She gave it to my father so I would never see it. Jules never had a mom around. As she grew older, she got into drugs. I can't remember if she had a kid of her own. She was smart and kind and thoughtful, and I really hope she's okay out there.
Read more

Medication and Mood Disorders

 Patients who suffer with mental health conditions are notorious for not taking their medications as prescribed. As a person with a diagnosed mental health condition, AND as a person who has worked in pharmacy for 18 years, I can tell you this is a very nuanced subject.  When I was 18 years old, I became unexpectedly pregnant with my daughter. At the time, I struggled with religious trauma. Looking back, I now realize I have dealt with anxiety, in one shape or another, my entire life. This anxiety, this generational trauma passed down in my genetic code, eventually came to a head. In combination of pregnancy hormones, feelings of guilt and failure as an unwed mother, and the realization that my life was heading in this one, seemingly permanent direction, part of myself shattered. I became severely depressed and suicidal. The only thing that kept me alive at the time was knowing my daughter was a part of me.  After giving birth and moving forward in life, my mental health was a tumultuo
Read more