I Woke Up Like This: Irrationally Depressed

My night ended like my morning began: lazily slogging about until I am left alone to do the tasks that I am predominately assigned to do and find a moment to do what I want to do. I stayed up until 1:00 am for no reason, drinking. And I lay in bed from 6:00 am, staring at the wall, listening to my kids laugh and scream while being kids on a Saturday morning. I didn’t get up until their father left for work, thus beginning my usual day of cleaning up after everyone. It’s a joyless task, but I do it and gripe about it because I’m allowed to.

Since I woke up like this, it seemed fitting to bring my irrationally depressed week full circle. No idea is created without an incendiary device. Mine was Instagram. As much as I’d like to think that my childhood was a healthy one, some things I do remember as times that could have been different if I wasn’t alone. It’s inane to charge back into that part of the past when there is no way to undo it all. But the memories remain the same.

Reflecting on my adopted attributes, I still don’t seem to fit any particular category. ID would always watch movies with Me. I could not get enough of it. TV shows were their most immense interest because of how many stories can be told in a short time and still make a huge impact. The Idiot made me like art and to be a creative creator. I would have never been a mother if it wasn’t for The Idiot.

I have a problem with Me. ID and The Idiot have been there for Me, and for that, I am thankful. But why is it so hard for Me to be thankful for me?

High School feels like it is the culprit of many issues, notwithstanding the years before and after. In all honesty, it was a struggle for my mother most of all. As a professional bookkeeper, she tried her best to keep me in school. Coming up with the money for my school’s monthly tuition was a real hardship. My Sophomore year was the shortest out of it all because I was suspended from school for 30+ days for failure to pay dues and not because I was on the honor roll. I will not get into the shitty details of that experience, but upon my return, the first thing a group of associates said to me was, “I thought you were dead.” None of them, all of whom had my number, called me to see what was up. Not even my so-called best friend from Middle School.

What is wrong with Me?

I have spent so much time internally reflecting on how much I could do or would do to matter so much to someone to be not forgotten.

And I’m tired of it.