Today I told my husband that I was fucking miserable.
And being the most awesome husband in the world, he told me to stop doing whatever is making me miserable. He told me to do what I feel I need to.
But I pointed out that I can’t stop doing the things that are making me miserable: raising a family, working, etcetera.
And he pointed out that I can.
I suppose I can or could. I could wake up one day and just not give my kids breakfast. I could not make their lunches. I could not go to work. I could not handle any of the zillion responsibilities I have.
But maybe my greatest fear is that even then, I would still be miserable.
Is it my life situation that creates my depression?
No, I really don’t think so. Would I be any happier if I had a nanny and no money worries? Well, probably, but I don’t think that would make everything better.
Would I like to run away to where no one needs anything from me? Where there are no demands made upon me?
Yes, I suppose that sounds nice, but I know that’s not what is going to make me “happy.”
I think one of my biggest fears is that nothing can make me happy. That this is who I am and I’m doomed to fight the rest of my life.
This is not me speaking, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. This is my depression. And today it has the upper hand and I just feel like crying.