Another Bad Day

My husband fixed a good supper tonight. I don't have much of an appetite, but I really appreciate him cooking for everyone. How else would they eat?

It's been another bad day. I keep thinking I won't survive this, and yet every day bleeds into a new one, as bleak as the last, but still I'm surviving. 

I haven't been through an episode this bad since the girls were little. That time things didn't turn out so well, but at least I know what I'm dealing with this time around. I know this place. It's a bad one. It has to be a bad place to make you feel like your children would be better off without you, and to find any way besides death to do that is even worse. It scars the whole family. I won't make that mistake again. But in its place, what WILL I do? 

I feel like I'm screaming for rest and recovery and I can't get it. I know I'm going to snap. There seems no way to stop it. Every little thing in my life seems impossible to do. Brushing my hair, too hard. Cooking, too overwhelming. Childcare, too exhausting. Cleaning, too complicated. So I sit around in a lazy blanket of discomfort, twiddling my thumbs, crying here and there, cursing and sighing at other times. I take care of my children, but I'm not fooling them. They know something is off. They know I'd rather be asleep in bed. I'm trying so hard it doesn't even feel like effort anymore. It feels like dying. 

I don't know if the meds I'm on are going to save me in time. I don't know if I should just be patient, or what. I'd stay in the hospital while things get sorted out, but there's no one to look after the kids. No one to take care of my mother. No one to do all these things that I'm doing, but doing horribly. There's no one.