I’m laughing. I’m smiling. I’m pretending I’m not dead and empty inside. I’m good at it. Most people don’t want to see through my act. So I let them believe things are okay.
But really I am hurting. My soul is tired. It goes so deep no amount of sleep helps.
My baby grows. I hold him and rock him. I kiss his cheeks and pretend to eat his toes when people are watching. But he feels alien to me. No longer part of my body. A noisy part of my life that I can’t seem to feel much for right now. I don’t feel negatively about him. I just don’t feel anything. I have a need to keep him happy, and healthy, but I don’t really know why.
I still keep the house clean. I still put food on the table. But things have no taste. There is no joy in it anymore.
Sometimes my heart hurts so deeply I wail and moan in my bed. And then to relieve the pain I hurt myself. It feels good for a moment and then I am ashamed that I have let things get this bad again. I have been weak again. And then I think about dying. And how I would do it quickly.
This is the darkness.
This is when I stop talking. When I don’t move for hours because I worry if I do, I will do something I may regret.
But so far I have eventually been able to get up again, and smile, and pretend a little longer. Hoping that some day soon the meds will start working and I can heal and be a better mother, wife, and friend. Hoping I can feel present again and not a visitor in my own life.