This post is inspired by Part-Time Monster’s Weekly Weekend Coffee Share
If we were having coffee right now, you must be a really good friend because I am one hot mess. Yeah, the depression is gnawing at me like an emaciated dog on a meaty bone. I thought if I just got through the week I could breathe this weekend and try to refuel for the coming week, but I guess it’s true there’s no rest for the wicked.
I woke up to Popi, our one-eyed wonder cat, using his paws under a closed door to bang on the door. It sounds like someone is breaking in the house. His way of demanding breakfast and destroying my sleep, which is the only time I am at peace. Depending how long I can manage to ignore the door pounding he will start the loudest meowing you have ever heard. The only way to stop this behavior is to get up and feed his greedy, selfish kitty-butt. We do not starve our animals, he still has dry food in his bowl when I go in there, he just can’t wait for that damn wet crap. And it’s not enough that I’ve fed him, after which I promptly get back into bed. He then starts his campaign to get me out of bed. He tries (and fails) to
gently pat me on the face so I will pet him and ends up scratching my face with his kitty-talons. Needless to say, this is not how I want to wake up on Saturday morning.
You may be wondering how my birthday was last week. Honestly, I’m not a fan of my birthday, and it has nothing to do with the number. I think it stems from many, many years of unmet expectations that I probably never should have had. Ever since I was in high school I secretly hoped my friends would throw me a party. Just to know that they cared enough to put the time and effort into planning something and that people liked me enough to show up and celebrate MY birthday. It never happened in high school or college. My ‘friends’ threw such parties for other friends of ours. (This paragraph is getting much longer than I’d planned or wanted, btw) Point is, I’ve tried not to get my hopes up for my birthday, but even in some teeny tiny way I always do, and every year I’m reminded birthdays suck. They are just another day in the year that comes and goes. And it really annoys me to get all of those Facebook ‘Happy Birthday’s’ from people who don’t like, comment or otherwise engage with me any other time of the year. Ok, rant complete and thank you for listening.
Don’t even get me started on the upcoming holidays. I moved away from my family to be with my husband, so all of the traditions I grew up with are out the window. His family could not be more different than mine. Every year for Thanksgiving we go to my husband’s boss’s house, with my husband’s parents and grandmother, because they put on a feast. The food is traditional and it’s amazing, so I can’t complain about that. I do have things I am eternally thankful for, but it’s a double-edged sword when you also wonder daily what the point of living is. Those unwelcome thoughts that depression so poignantly pushes to the forefront of your psyche make you feel unappreciative and unworthy. I try to keep the horrible thoughts and unbearable sadness to myself because I don’t want them to hurt for me. Yet they see it in my distant eyes, hear it in the conversations I don’t participate in, and the laughter I can’t seem to share.
Keep in mind, my lovelies, there’s a good reason the holidays are the hardest time of the year for those suffering from mental illness. Seeing the happiness and cheer from strangers and loved ones alike, it’s hard. Wanting desperately to join in and feel the love and joy, yet being unable. It’s devastating for many. Good thing it’s the time of year for compassion, try to be extra aware this year ok?
Now, Go Link Up Here with your Weekend Coffee Share so I know what’s going on with you, too!