I am depressed. I don't think it or suspect it, I know it.
I wake up every day hours earlier than I need to and mentally beat myself up and curse my life. I lay there and wish that I hadn't woken up at all. I review all of the mistakes I'd made the previous day and anticipate screwing up that day too. Sometimes I just cry, sometimes I sob. My husband is tired of it. He has stopped even trying to console me. He just tells me to get help and goes back to sleep. I don't blame him. I'm tired of me too.
There are things I used to be good at that I no longer can get myself to do. My finances are a mess. My house is usually a disaster. I've lost contact with most of my friends. I'm not sure I ever had friends to begin with. My rising career is no longer rising...hardly even holding steady.
I try to hide it publicly, but not always well. Sometimes I cry at work. Sometimes I snap at people inappropriately. Mostly I crack jokes and hope my sadness is hidden by my sarcasm. People think I'm funny. I don't feel funny.
I think I've been sort of like this for most of my life. I was already slightly broken. But the sadness and stress of the past 5 years has taken me from slightly broken to broken down. 5 years have passed and I look and feel 20 years older.
Setting "goals" for myself seems to help because I throw myself into it, but once the goal is accomplished I feel worse than before. Much worse. And I'm always disappointed in the outcome. Never good enough. More fodder for my morning self-flaggelation. And a void where that activity was.
My husband says "talk to your family". My family is made of stone. If they read what I've written here they'd feign concern and chuckle amongst themselves about how weak I am. Maybe not in those words nor with intended malice, but that would be the point. I have been calling them more often, but it's frequently just a reminder of what I don't have.
My husband says "get a hobby". Well, now I do yoga, work out, sew, I tried cross stitch and crochet. The exercise seems to help but the craft work just keeps my hands busy. Doesn't give me something to live for if that what he was going for. And when I tell people about it I feel like I'm saying "these are the things I'm doing to fill my empty life".
I guess there are reasons for me to be sad, but other people have it worse and aren't falling apart. I want my Dad back. I want my two miscarried babies to be living children. I want to be able to have children. I don't want anymore needles, procedures, raised hopes and crushing disappointments. I want to live where my family is, not in the woods. I want a normal, straight body. I want a job that means something and that I can enjoy. I want to be good at something. I want to feel better.
I don't want drugs and I don't want someone else to tell me to "just adopt" or tell me about how their friend used donor eggs and it's the same. I'd rather be profoundly depressed and pregnant than upbeat and still barren. This is why I'm afraid to get help. They'll either try to medicate me or to talk me out of what I know I want.
But it's getting to the point where I'm afraid not to get help. I think about death all the time. Wishing for it. I don't see suicide as an option because I don't want to leave my husband with that emotionally or financially. That would be a final failure. But I don't want to live either. I want the pain and anger and self-loathing to stop.