For those of you that don't know, I have a had a long and bumpy relationship with anxiety and depression, (or the Black Dog as Winston Churchill called it.) I had my first definable "bout" with at the ripe age of nineteen and have lived with it, steadily, ever since. (Someday I will write my entire story for you all, but that will take a lot of strength and a lot of time and I am strong enough to do it just yet.)
Throughout the past 10 years there have been times, months even, that I can hardly remember what it's like to feel the dark cloud hovering. Those days are beautiful. Then there are times like now when I can't remember feeling totally "normal." I almost don't believe myself when I say "I was happy a month ago." Also, I am a really good faker, so people often don't know the agony I feel in my head.
Don't get me wrong, I am not in the pit as deeply as I have been before. It is just a steady, irritating presence, like a fish trying to nibble at your toes while you swim. Mostly I am tired and want to hide under the covers, but don't because my family needs me, which in turn refuels the anxiety. It is hard to be needed. It is scary to know my children have no one else to get them out of bed in the morning, feed them, change their diapers... I love it but sometimes (a lot of times) I am afraid I am going to fail. But I suppose we all do every once in awhile, don't we.
Anyway, I wanted to say that I feel really thankful that I have this blog and am able to share myself, candidly, with you all. It is scary to be exposed, but healing. Thank you for reading this and thank you for any prayers you decide to send up on my (and my family's) behalf. Please know that I will do the same for you.
Love, Melani