When life gets me down, and just keeps dragging me further into the vacuous depths of my mind

I wrote most of the this post about a month ago and just filed it away, hoping that it would be the last time that I felt despair to that degree, but hoping isn’t getting, so since it’s one of my reoccurring life patterns, I decided to hit publish on this today.  Maybe releasing it into the universe will bring some answers my way.

I broke down and cried in the shower this morning.  It was not a ladylike weep (go figure), but rather one of those cries that start from the core of your guts and wrack your whole body trying to escape.  I guess it is safe to say that I am feeling sad.

I am feeling sad, defeated, stressed out, small (not in a good way, like lean thighs and a trim waist way), insignificant, scared, uncertain and insecure.  This is what happens when the pressure is enough to finally beat the happy out me, drive my smile underground and convince me that there is just no point anymore.

And I hate it.  My heart is saying one thing.  My head says another.  My rational thoughts are in the background telling the rest of me to quiet down, ride it out and wait for it to pass.  My emotional side is telling me that it will never pass.  The only thing that will pass is my life.  Wasted, unappreciated and unfulfilled.  No happy fluffy horseshit here today, huh?

Yes, I know that Depression is a liar.  And yes, I know that I have wonderful kids, five of them, any one of whom I would stand in front of a train to protect and save.  I hate my weakness, I miss my strength, I hate self-pity, I love being a mom, I miss liking myself.  I miss feeling like I’m valuable, worth it, important (again, not in a DIVA way, just in a human being way).

When trying to talk yourself out of it, convince yourself out of it, eat yourself out of it, wish, cry, sleep yourself out of it and nothing works, what do you do?  I always have just enough to know that quitting is not an option.  I have not yet sunk so deep that I believe that my kids, family, or the world in general would be better off with me.  And I do not think that I will sink that low.  If history is anything to go by, my tormentor and most abusive lover, Depression, never drags me past that line.  Rather I remain in limbo between the sunshine, smiles, light and love and that dark, lonely, terrifying, almost over-powering asshole, Depression.

Drugs are not the answer for me.  Therapy is not the answer for me.  Pretending just does not work and the more that I eat, the emptier I feel.  The fact that I struggle with these feelings makes me feel like a loser for not being able to think or decide my way back to my version of happy normalcy. Hiding sounds wonderful, but my over-inflated sense of responsibility prevents me from ever really hiding successfully.  It always has.

I hold it together for my kids, I talk to, laugh with, chauffeur and cook for, bathe and read with, kiss, hug , cuddle, tuck in at night, and do all of the million other things that my Mommy genes are programmed to do.  Loving them, loving my husband and my family is what keeps me getting up in every morning but honestly, how pathetically weak must one be to take neglecting the self-care (that is so loudly proclaimed to be essential) to the point of not allowing herself any outlets to recover and recharge her mental and emotional strength?  Great.  Another thing to feel like a loser about.  Yay me.

Christ.  Perhaps I should just declare this month my official pity party gala and be done with it.

You know your shit is in a mess when even you are bored by your own tedious whining.

Anyone else reading this ever feel this way? What do you do to break out of it, or do you just ride it out until the feelings ebb away, knowing full well that the darkness will return in the future and take you down again?