What’s Up

It’s 1058 am and I am currently locked away in my bathroom, like a five year old finding shelter from the storm of raft from her parents, that is coming due to some mischievous act.  After a restless night, mostly due to having a mood slide down into the familiar abyss, I slept comfortably, not thinking about time or the fact that my children may have wanted to interact with their mother at some point; my mom has been here for a week, stepping in as super woman, taking care of my recovering body while being ‘mom’ to my kids (so thankful for a little help and a break).  I was awaken by my mom with a stern knock on my door, followed by a soft toned, but slightly aggressive question; “What’s Up?”.

She of course stared at me, waiting for me to give her some explanation as to why a 31 year old mother of a two year old and one year old, who just had surgery a week ago, and has been battling in the most tiring season of her life, why I would be still sleeping at such a late time in the morning , as 11 am.  Still startled by the knock of death that ensued a few minutes prior, and feeling groggy from taking my prescribed pain relief a few hours earlier, all I could do was shake my head; I didn’t know how to respond.  My evening yesterday was so disappointing.  It’s not like I haven’t had one of these types of low mood moments before, but after having such a high of a day, getting stitches removed, having energy and less pain enough  to enjoy lunch at the factory (Cheesecake Factory), and drive around with my mom and kids exploring the gentrification of Nashville, to say I was disappointed at feeling like ‘nothing’, would be an understatement.

I felt like a child again in that moment of inquiry from my mom, like I was being reprimanded like times of old, but I couldn’t help but think that she may have been experiencing a combination of, your kids are wearing me out and I don’t understand what you’re going through.  Sometimes, in this season of depression, I feel like no one fully understands what I’m going through.  It’s as if they are suddenly blinded and have amnesia the moment I may have a string of days or hours of good fortune of happiness.  It’s frustrating at times, hence why I am locked away in a bathroom.  I just need a moment to gather myself and to talk some sort of comfort of ‘it’s ok’ to myself.  I’m tired, at times of explaining how depression gives you no control over how you feels sometimes.  Nothing in this world has to trigger you to suddenly fall into such an abyss of lowness that you feel like you can never climb out of;  its just a relentless illness (quite unforgiving at times).

So, here I am, writing in a caged room filled with faucets and porcelain, getting the strength to answer that question of ‘What’s up?’ and face the rest of this day.  But, writing has given me a little less anxiety about coming out of this cage to unashamedly face my mom, who innocently and through love, may not fully understand this beast I wrestle with every second of every day.  I’ll just continue to muster up the strength to fight on, upwards, toward the light that always creeps back in after these lowest of lows.

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