The Black Dog

Just between the two of us I’m indulging in a bit of a nervous breakdown. Or I would be, if I were enjoying it. As it is I’m just drowning.

I’ve lived with depression for a while now. Almost eight years. That’s one fifth of my life – fuck, hey? There’s always been highs and lower lows. I think what has made the crash and burn different this time is that I’d actually felt I was getting somewhere towards the end of last year. I’m not sure where exactly, but I felt things were looking up. And then they weren’t and the realisation hit that any improvements made, and the struggle and effort they take, can all be flushed down the toilet in an instant leaving me back where I started, if not further behind. If my life is a game of snakes and ladders I hit a big old snake. And I’ll be buggered if I can find a ladder or even get up the enthusiasm to look.

I’ve had it really. I’m doing the psych appointments and taking the meds but I need to just fall apart for a bit and then work out how to put myself back together. Except there’s the whole single parent thing. So, I am taking the incredibly selfish step of finding the boys alternate care and giving myself some time and space. Giving them some time and space too because a just hanging on by the skin of her teeth Mum is not much fun for anyone. I know this makes me a bad Mum, abandoning my post but it’s either now temporarily or forever permanently.

This just leaves Daughter Number Two to consider. At the end of January I asked Baby Daddy to have Daughter Number Two, seeing as she is his daughter too, for three nights. For the first time EVER in her almost FOUR YEAR OLD life. He refused, as he didn’t approve of how I would be spending my time. DICK. This time I won’t be asking, he needs to look after her for two weeks. Because I need to look after me, and at the moment I can’t do both. It is not ideal, but it is the best I can do for her at the moment. She is old enough now to be able to get food and drinks from the fridge, and to be vocal if she needs something. He is just going to have to pull it together and pretend to be a parent instead of a weekly Father Christmas.

Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: