Eight PM, here – East coast, USA. The kids have been tucked in to bed, I have yet to have dinner, and the fog is rolling in, the darkness. To be clear, it’s been dark out for several hours. But inside … nighttime is when it’s darkest, for me.
I struggle to sleep, so I’m perpetually tired. And once the day is over, once the kids are asleep and there’s nothing left for me to do, I feel unnecessary. I feel like I have no purpose. So I sit around, walk around my house, from room to room, stare from wall to wall, thinking entirely too much about not really enough. It’s all about me, mostly – what am I doing here? How did I get here? Why am I staying here? How am I affecting people around me?
That last question – during the day, I can say, “I affect these people positively. They love me, they need me, I help them, they help me.” But at night, when I’m just tired, my brain is a mess, and they’re asleep and won’t have a use for me for another 9 hours, well what now?
This is when I want to give in to my vices that don’t really help. Truly, they make it worse. I’m perceptive enough to know that feeling better from these vices is only temporary, only in the moment, if even then.
I was on antidepressants for a while. They helped my mood, to some degree, but the side-effects weren’t for me. The way my libido was affected left me feeling robotic. I was uninterested in human contact at all. I also needed to sleep pretty much constantly, I stopped finding joy in even the positively wondrous moments, I constantly just wanted to hide out and avoid everyone and everything. If my entire being has to change, just to be less sad, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was even worth it. Sure, I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to live, either. How is that a good thing?
My stomach is actually growling, and I feel nauseous. I have had the good fortune of feeling nauseous anytime I’m hungry for years now, since I first became pregnant. The only time I was nauseous during my pregnancies was when I was hungry. This, now, combined with the incredibly sore boobs and strange cravings (pickle slices and cinnamon rolls, last night) would make me wonder, if I hadn’t just had so many people looking into my cervix, trying to remove my IUD. (They failed, by the way.) Also had a CT and an ultrasound just a couple of weeks ago. Surely they’d have seen spawn in there.
I suppose I’m just hungry, then, which is good, except that nothing sounds even slightly appealing and I have no interest in cooking, anyway. You know those moments where you want food in your kitchen, but you only have ingredients?
Hate those moments. But I suppose I’ll go try to figure it out.
For the record, I will likely write far too often here, about really quite a lot of nothing. Just a warning in advance.
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