Not Okay

I feel so depressed and empty. I just can't shake it. I wish I could sleep for days. I can't even concentrate on my favorite hobby, reading. And the binge eating is really out of hand. I recently lost 30 pounds but I have gained it all back. Of course, part of that happened before this depression hit...I guess I binge eat no matter how I'm feeling.

Mom is doing well, though, so that's a good thing. She actually has a window to the outside world in her new room. Granted, all you can see is a wall of windows on the next building, but that's better than nothing.

I am so ready to go to bed. It's only 8:22 p.m. and Douglas won't be up for work until nearly 10. So I'll wait.

A couple of weeks ago Douglas brought home some beer that someone left at the hotel where he works. I haven't drank alcohol in about two years so I told him we would give them to his brother at Thanksgiving. In a moment of depressed stupidity I opened one tonight, but I only drank half the bottle and poured the rest out. I just don't want to go down that road again.

Here's something I wrote but never published on 12-7-2015:

"Sometimes it's hard to breathe, to adjust, to matter. I hear voices from the past in hues I've never known. I try to make sense of it all. And it's no use. No use.

I miss Daddy. I miss so many people, dead and alive. I miss who I used to be, and I miss who I want to be. I feel like I'm tethering in between, so close and yet so far away. I wish I could make sense of that as well.

I drink a lot. Not to get drunk, not to feel numb, but to remember. There are parts of me and my life floating here and there and I just want to make them stay, just a little bit longer. All I feel is grief, sober or not. But to make those lovely parts stay just so, that is what I want most of all.

I choose God when I have nothing left. I choose God when I have plenty. I choose God, but I also choose little human ways to deal with the pain. I'm not altogether centered. The intentions are pure, but the faith is failing. I choose to keep on when I feel like giving up. This is something at least.

I try to be a good mother, but I fail. I love so hard and so deep, and yet it doesn't transform into the right actions. I give too little, when all I want is to give everything I have. Why is this so hard for me?

I miss that little part of childhood when things were simple. I was loved by parents, by pets, by little childhood friends. And then I got older, and all those things seemed more complex and conditional. Why does this still make me cry?"