That about sums it up

So, I saw this yesterday evening, when I really needed to see it. It gives me hope, but it also drives home that I need help.  I can't get out of this on my own.

I don't believe I have chronic depression, but the way he describes the loud room, and all you can do is deal with how loud it is - that pretty much sums up how I've felt since getting back from the hospital. Actually, no.  How I've felt since my parents' visit.  I was tired as fuck, but I was coping pretty well before they came.*

There have definitely been moments of pure joy, but mostly I am just overwhelmed.  The monster is truly amazing, but I get hung up on his neediness and it's all I can do to just get through the day.

I don't know if I need medication, but I definitely need to go back to therapy.  I haven't been back since my last post - everything is just getting on top of me.  I was going to call today, and instead ended up scrubbing diarrhea out of my carpet.  So there's that.  Now I have to clean the kitchen and cook dinner and throw myself off the balcony.

OK, not that last part, but damn.  I need something.

Mr. Wolfman only has 1 more 16 hour day, then tomorrow is an 8 hour, then one day off.  But he's already said he's spending tomorrow afternoon sleeping, so I guess I don't get a break?

This was supposed to be a relatively upbeat post because of how much that video helped me last night, but now I'm just pissed off at the situation I'm in.  Mostly because I feel like I should just be able to snap out of it, but partially because I feel like I shouldn't have to.  I mean, if I had two jobs, but only needed one and Mr. Wolfman was telling me daily that he was struggling, not coping, drowning, needed help - I'd fucking quit one of my jobs. Or at the very least, call in sick for one day and try to work through it - or something.  I sure as shit wouldn't be signing up to take on extra hours in the fall.

I get that he just wants to provide for the family, and I get that with me not working, that must be a lot of stress on him.  But fuck.  I don't know how to get him to understand that I'm just not handling it well. I'm not cut out to be a stay at home mum generally and/or I have postpartum depression.  And, even though I know this likely isn't the case, I feel like a bath (alone, and without a crying baby on the other side of the door) and 8 hours of sleep could easily solve everything.

That's a pipe dream, of course.  It isn't going to happen.

Right.  Cooking and cleaning.  Time for myself is just a silly idea, and I should put it out of my head.


*Not saying my parents gave me PPD, but their visit was ill-timed and certainly didn't help matters. And I do think that all their baby-hogging and all of my Dad's weird, passive aggressive comments and shit did a number on my brain.