It’s easier to be depressed during the school year.
As I feel myself falling down this familiar hole with all three kids here, I’m scrambling. I’m scrambling to tell them I’m sick, (which I am) and I’m tired (which I am) and to get them to just play and leave me alone. I just want to lay in my bed in silence and stare at the wall for about 12 hours.
No, I do not want to play outside.
No, I do not want to go swimming.
No, I am not going to color.
No, I will not help you paint.
I don’t want to play and I’m not going to play. I’m not good today and I just need you to be quiet and play with your five hundred million toys without needing my constant supervision and cheering on.
Yes, my depression makes me irritable. No, it doesn’t help that everything hurts because I’ve overdone it this week and the weather is being weird. Yes, I feel terribly guilty about it. No, I don’t want to help you find whatever it is you’ve lost.
We made cookies from scratch yesterday. Last week we put up the kiddie pool and I watched you swim for hours. Last night we snuggled and watched movies. Today I am broken.
Today I need to not be anyone’s mommy. Today I can’t even take care of myself.
Depression is not easy any time, but it is hell in the summertime.