It was a simple text, “How are you?” I wish I could answer. I’m just at a loss anymore as to how I am supposed to answer. Certain answers come to my mind today: Crushed, Hopeless, Fatigued, Powerless, Feeling Like a Complete Failure, Hating Myself, but are these the answers anyone wants to hear to that simple question? Of course not, but I don’t have a good answer.
Should I write back and say that my husband thinks I hate him? Should I say that my kids probably think I am the worst mother ever this year? Or dare I even say, I’m done, caput, finished and I can’t handle these feelings anymore? Possibly I should again say I don’t think the Lexapro is working and the Xanax is my worst nightmare, causing me migraines that would make you want to shoot yourself?
I can’t. I think it’s just better that I don’t even answer. But then the guilt kicks in and I feel I owe the person an answer. They are reaching out because they care. What kind of person am I? This vicious cycle is slowing eating away at the little bit that is left of my heart and soul. I’m empty, and in less than a week, I have to pull it together.
Christmas is right around the corner and my children are looking forward to a home filled with the smells of cookies and French Toast Casserole on Christmas morning. I dread this. Can I pull myself together to perform? Can I meet the challenge? Today, my answer would be no and that again adds to my feelings of self worth and disgust with how pathetic I have become.
I love my family more than anything and I have always said actions speak louder than words. What am I conveying to them when I can’t even get out of bed to say good bye to my boys before school in the morning? What does my husband think when I don’t even hug him anymore or kiss him for that matter? I’ve abandoned everyone emotionally and all that sits here is a body of a person I once was, and even that is withering away to nothing because I have no appetite. I swear this is my worst day yet, and tomorrow I will have been on this God forsaken medication for two weeks. Anti-depressant, my ass!
Normally, at this time of year my house would be filled with Christmas songs and I’d be singing along to the Carpenters, which is my favorite Christmas album. I don’t think I could stomach the sweet voice of poor, tormented Karen.
Instead, today, the only song I have in my head is one which I could picture Weird Al singing… “All I want for Christmas is my San-i-Ty, My san-i-Ty, yes, my sanity, Gee if I could only have my San-i-Ty, then I could wish you Merry Christmas…”