She walks in the door and is greeted by two bright, furry faces. A handsome man stands over a freshly cleaned counter preparing the most delightful smelling dinner anyone could have hoped for. He hasn’t been home for long, she knows, but he’s already gone to the trouble of tidying the living room and cleaning up the kitchen, both of which had still been in a state of chaos echoing the excitement of the party a couple of days prior, when she’d left for work. He always picks up her slack… She is grateful that some of the work is done and she can relax a little bit, but still she has to dig deep for the smile she puts on to greet the eager family welcoming her home. Behind her eyes, the pressure releases just enough that she can pretend, for a moment, that she doesn’t need to cry so bad it hurts.
Small talk. She cringes inwardly, but responds kindly and with all the interest she can muster. He tries so hard. She knows he means well. Part of her truly believes he loves her. What she isn’t so sure of is why. He asks how her day was. She says it was fine. It really was… nothing went wrong and her bosses still like her. They share dinner. She’s pretty sure she didn’t let on.
Days pass like this. Pretending. Holding back the tears. Hiding in the bathroom until her breathing steadies again.
The tears start to push through. Everything makes her cry. Everything hurts, inside and out. The pain evolves from psychological and emotional into physical aches and pains. Moving hurts. Getting out of bed takes the effort of titans just to move.
Is it worth it? Why does she even try? Perhaps she just needs an outlet.
She wanders into her craft room and looks at all the goodies there to behold. For a moment, creativity consoles her. She’ll come back here tomorrow. It seemed to help.
Tomorrow comes and she leans in the dark doorway of the craft room. Not tonight… What’s the point?
She makes her way to her computer. She loves her games… An hour later, she’s still scrolling through her Facebook feed. Awww, another friend’s baby making new noises and faces. How sweet. She’ll never have that… she knows it in her gut. They’ve been off birth control for only two months, but her heart is just sure she’ll never be a mother, however badly she wants it.
That’s okay, though… she has her dogs. Of course, she’s not a very good dog parent either. She can’t get them trained properly and she doesn’t feed them right. She never walks them. They’ve got a huge yard to run, but still… she should walk them more.
It’s too late to walk them now, anyway. She gives up on the games for tonight. What’s the point?
She’ll watch some TV. Stupid TV like Family Guy or American Dad. That can’t possibly hurt her mood. Oh shit… they killed Brian? She cracks. She misses her Mom. Death sucks. It hurts so hard and the hurting just never seems to stop. If she’d still been at home, she could have prevented her mother’s death…
That’s why she could never just take her own life… even though it all hurts so bad. She couldn’t cause that kind of pain to the people that say they love her. Then again… wouldn’t they be better off without her dragging them down? Wouldn’t they be happier, once the crying stopped, to not have to worry about her messed up health? Her unpredictable moods? Her bad habits?
She supposes she could sleep… perhaps she’d feel better in the morning. The nightmares, though. Sleep is hardly restful when the worst things she can imagine come out to play in her head all night.
Perhaps she should meditate… Clear her head? Sure, because that’s so easy.
Eventually, sleep comes. The sun rises. The handsome man leaves her bed and goes to work, but not without stopping to kiss her goodbye and tell her how much he loves her, even though she’s still half-asleep for another hour after he’s gone. She misses him. When he’s close, it’s a little easier to not feel completely alone.
It’s time to go to work. Here we go again. One more day. Are we happy today? Can we please be happy today?
The depressed brain doesn’t care if you have the perfect husband, the perfect dogs, the perfect house, the perfect car, the perfect family, or the perfect life. Depression doesn’t make sense. The bipolar brain can change its mind without warning you. This is just a few days in my head. Tomorrow, I might wake up and feel like everything is sunshine and roses and I’m the richest and most capable woman on earth. That might sound like hugs and puppies to you, but try telling the manic brain that it can’t really afford an extra hundred bucks in craft supplies sometime. It’s not going to work. I’ll be able to do everything and ignore any pain, physical or otherwise for a while, when I finally go manic, but how much damage will I do while I’m there. Hell… how much damage do I do when I’m depressed? This is my struggle. Today, and for the past several days, I don’t feel like I deserve to exist. I have no idea how I’ll feel tomorrow. Every morning I have to ask myself ‘how do I feel today?’ just so I can try to prepare myself for damage control on my own moods. There’s no ‘reason’ for me to be so sad. So why am I crying my eyes out for no reason, even as he tells me he loves me and it’s all going to be okay?