Because my father reads this blog, let me offer this disclaimer: I am fine.
Saturday, however, I was not fine.
I experienced for the first time ever true, black-hole depression.
I felt broken. I felt that I couldn’t go on, that I didn’t want to operate another day doing what I was doing. I didn’t want to work, I didn’t want to be a mother or a wife, I didn’t want to clean or do laundry. I did not want to shower or eat or get out of bed.
As a matter of fact, I spent quite a bit of the day in bed. If Michael — my dearest son, who was also sick with a fever and an ear infection (diagnosed Sunday), and who made this sound all weekend, “eehhhhh” “eehhhhh” — If Michael was asleep on Saturday, so was I. My other two children watched Looney Tunes and played with their cousins, and were largely looked after by their Tadone and Bella. (Thank you, Tadone and Bella.)
Two things set off this feeling. Well, no, I shouldn’t say that. I have been feeling increasing pressure for weeks now, pretty much since I went back to work (see: plate spinning). I guess there were two straws that broke the camel’s back. So to speak.
One was a minor argument that Dan and I had Friday night — it just soured things, and when things aren’t right with Dan, nothing is right for me. Then on Saturday, we were late for Flora’s last soccer game of the season. Because: I couldn’t find her shin guards or her uniform; I had to bring snacks; I had to wrangle children who were intent on doing anything but what I told them to do; and because after sleeping well all week, Michael picked Friday to Saturday to get up twice in the night.
All the plates came crashing down, and I didn’t care.
Every day is a struggle for me. Not as bad as Saturday, but definitely a struggle. Even to do the simple stuff. Every day I pick and choose what I am going to do well, if at all. And Saturday wasn’t a struggle simply because I didn’t do anything. After soccer, I let the kids loose in the yard (except for Michael, who was sleeping), and went to bed. When Michael went in for his other nap some time around 2:30, I went to bed again. He got most of my care on Saturday: he got fed, changed, and held. I gave him Tylenol for his fever. I can’t say a was a very excellent mom, especially to my other two, but everyone survived.
Including me, apparently. Sunday I slowly emerged from the black hole. I talked to Dan about how I felt; I listened to him talk about how he felt. I don’t know that we solved anything. Given that our situation hasn’t changed, I suppose it’s perfectly possible that I could have another bad — really, really bad — Saturday any day now. I don’t know.
I guess that’s the scariest part of this: Nothing has changed. I don’t foresee anything changing. (Flora’s not in soccer for now, so I guess that’s a plus.) And now as I’m going about my plate-spinning life, I’m horribly aware of the black web underneath it all. Waiting to catch.
Red Pen Mama 