I'm counting, once again, on the healing powers of writing. The last few times it has helped, even if only marginally.
I feel physically ill. Every day. I awaken sick to my stomach and often, well I won't go into the details of what I do to try to get rid of the ache. I am unbelievably anxious. It feels like the world is just sitting on my shoulders and won't get off. I have actual pain in my neck and shoulders. And don't get me started on the crying. I can do that for hours. If I get on the phone or sit with the right person, the tears are unstoppable.
I know what many of you say, the tears are healing and I have to go through the pain in order to truly heal. At this rate, I'm going to be the most healed person on earth. Have I mentioned that I barely eat or sleep? I've lost nearly 20 pounds since my mother's death and I suspect that I'm still losing. I am the exact opposite of the stress eater.
I'm trying so hard to connect to my kids but even they get it. Lily gets clingy and afraid to let me out of her sight and Addison told me that I need to be happy. I can't even force myself to bake cookies or do an art project with them because I can't focus that long. Snuggling with them has been great medicine when I can sit still that long but it kills me that they know just how bad off I am.
I understand the work I have to do. I just wish that I could figure out a way not to be so demonstrative ALL the time. Being around other people helps. I spent time yesterday with another person I know who has been struggling with her own depression and we looked at each other after a few hours and realized how being together was helpful. I hope we get to do it again!
There's a life out there that I'm not living. I want it back. I miss it. I miss the good times with my family and friends. I hope yesterday was a step in the right direction!