Land of the Bland

I have been such a slacker in the writing department lately.  I am having a hard time concentrating, and while most of the time I can piece together my thoughts better through written word than verbal, right now there seems to be no solid form of communication that I can make proper use of.  I have plenty of things I want to say and write about, but there's a great chopping block in between my thoughts and their expression, and I am very sorry that I cannot do any better.  

I am experiencing what promises to be a long stretch of depression.  Yet, on the "bright" side of this darkness, it has, for the most part, been a functional misery.  I have been able to go about my duties as wife and mother, keep the house fairly clean, cook healthy meals, and even exercise every day (even with a screaming two year old clamped to my leg begging me to stop - built in weight training).  But I'm not finding joy in any of it, and that is a pity, because I know there is joy to be had, if only I could pry off these blinders. But all I see is work, work, work.  I am tired.  I want five minutes to myself.  I want someone to come take this burden from me for a short while so I can re-center.  But there's no one to do that.  And when I ask for help and get shot down, it makes me feel even worse, so I've stopped asking.  Really, there's no one to ask.  And even if there was, I don't truly believe a babysitter or housekeeper would solve what's wrong deep down inside of me.  

I am trying not to let my irritable, downright hateful view on things get in the way of the sunshiney mom I am supposed to be.  I am trying not to get annoyed by the little things.  I am trying not to break down crying every other hour of the day.  And I must be fooling everyone, or else they have their own set of blinders on.  No one seems to know how invisible I feel, how used up and broken and in need of something that I just can't put my finger on. No one  sees me sinking further and further down.  If they did, they would do something, right?