What I want you to know about being a mother struggling with depression

What I would like you to know is that I’m a mother who’s struggling. I love my children. LOVE them. But some days, I hate myself so much that any other feeling but that feeling is completely eclipsed. I take my anti-depressants most days, when I’m not too exhausted to remember them. I go to therapy to discuss my feelings. I talk to friends…well, that’s not true. I try to talk to friends. After my first sentence, they are focused on trying to fix me and I shut down. I talk to my mom. I tell her I feel crazy. She says I’m overwhelmed. I talk to my husband. I tell him I wish he would leave me and find someone better for our kids. He just looks at me. You know, the look where someone hears you, but doesn’t comprehend what the hell you’re saying. That one. I get that alot.

I’m high-functioning, or so says my therapist. I find that insulting for some reason. But she’s right, I know the face I should use to correspond with anything someone is saying to me. But I feel nothing. Nothing but lost and overwhelmed with disgust for myself. I go to work. I go to school. I go to Walmart. I go home and take care of my kids. I hang out with my husband. I go through all the motions, feeling a quiet despair.

I’m tired of going to the doctor. I’m tired of new medications and the feeling that I’m just complaining. I’m tired of not being able to find one that fits and will help me master this and feel some joy. I guess I’m just tired.

What I would like you to know is when someone says they are depressed, take them seriously. It’s not a dark cloud or a bad day. I have no intentions of ending my life, but I hate the thought of 50+ more years feeling like this. I want you to know that motherhood is wonderful, but lonely. I want you to know that I feel like a failure everyday. I want you to know that I’m holding out hope that eventually I might feel better…someday.