I am in the room but absent. I have a small troll standing on my chest, squeezing my lungs. I think I’m sleeping ok- I’m not really sure- but I feel fatigued. I do exercise but there’s not the usual buzz. I tell myself hourly to enjoy my surroundings, my children, my life, but it’s forced. I laugh because I should. I smile when I’m supposed to. I’m professional because I’m on auto-pilot. Joy has gone. Existence remains.
It’s my favourite time of year. I see the harvest moon, the slanting sun rays on a crisp morning, the yellows, reds and peaches of the leaves set against the still vibrant green grass. I see the intensity of these things, yet they have no impact. I do not rejoice, my heart does not sing, my spirits don’t lift. I am a casual observer of phenomenon. I eat a chocolate bar around the time I normally feel hungry. I know it tasted of chocolate, but did I enjoy it? I can’t remember.
I’m off to play the part again- to be the Mum my children need. To smile, laugh and play with them. But they’ve been gravitating towards daddy this last few days. Do they know? Have they picked up on it?? Please God, no! Let me at least be a good and loving mum.
This is new to me. I have a greater depth of understanding of this phenomenon of mental ill health. I’m in the club now, rather than an interested observer. I’ve chatted to a friend and if I don’t perk up soon I’ll take action- i don’t want to slide further down this slope because it’s not fair on my kids. Couldn’t give a monkey’s arse about me.