so much more than depression

Yesterday, I had my therapy session and we were talking about my mother–again–and I didn’t really want to. I feel kind over that part of everything. Yes, it hurts and it’s a huge disappointment but I’m coming to realize she isn’t going to change and if I’m not willing to move on from it, then it’s just going to keep dragging me down and make me feel awful about myself. Today, I feel indifferent about her and her actions. Maybe that’s what some would call progress. I call it resignation. Giving in. Waving the white flag in defeat.

The last few days I’ve noticed that something else is brewing underneath the surface and I’m having a hard time accessing it. I just can’t seem to reach it, describe it or get rid of it. It’s heavy, dark and distressing. It makes me want to scream and cry and fight with the whole world. It’s sucking every bit of happiness, however small, that remains within me. It’s like a black pit of emptiness. I guess some would say it’s a symptom of my depression, but it feels like so much more than that.

I’m starting to wonder. Will I ever feel happiness again?

I’m trying to think about the last time I was truly happy and it’s been so long that I can’t even remember. Tomorrow C and I are going camping again and while it’s at my most favourite place in the whole world, I still don’t feel that happy about it. Like seriously, I’d rather stay home and sleep my days away. But I can’t do that either because if I’m not on vacation that means I have to be working. And I definitely don’t want to be working. Maybe it’s time to take some time off of work for awhile. Maybe a month or so. I don’t know. Maybe that’s a conversation I need to have with T and my psychiatrist. Work is not going well anyways, so what would it matter if I was there or not?

It’s hard being a mother, working full time and dealing with depression. It’s even more difficult when you see those around you moving on with their lives and you feel stuck in a pit of thick, unmovable muck. I don’t even really talk to my friends these days. I’m starting to wonder if working from home is making my mental health worse. But, going back to work full-time isn’t going to be like it was before anyways, so why would I want to do that? It’s not like you can socialize and have meaningful conversations with people anymore.

I just feel so low these days. Tired. Frustrated.

I know I should really talk about it all with T but I’m trying to be careful about how much I divulge outside of this blog because I don’t want to set off any major red flags. I seriously feel closer to being done with all of this. Like I said in another post, I don’t know what it is but there’s just something about this time of year that makes things feel a hundred times worse. I’m just glad I have this space where I can put things down and leave them there to sit a little bit until I figure out what to do with them.