As time goes by, I think that in real life there are VERY few people that "get" me. I don't think I felt as judged right in the beginning of my grief journey as I do now.
I just had a talk with one of my best friends, someone who I met in blogland but has transferred into my real life, although we don't live near each other. Anyway, I called to ask her how you know when you are actually depressed.
Like, how do you know when you are supposed to ask for help, or get put on drugs, or whatever? How do you know when it stops being "situational" and starts being plain old depression?
I don't want to go on medication. I don't want to go see my doctor. I don't want to go back to the shrink.
I'm doing my job. I'm loving on Avery. My house is spotless and I'm paying my bills and sending out birthday cards to my annoying relatives at the right times.
I'm not sleeping too much (in fact, hardly at all if we're going to analyze that) or laying on the couch ignoring my family like they do in those commercials.
A lot of times, I feel happy. Avery makes me laugh so hard sometimes I cry of happiness. She is hysterical, that girl. She makes the funniest faces and talks in her own little language and knocks over the kids at daycare to steal their snacks.
I think I love my new job, the 4th graders, and I'm much less stressed at work. I have the nicest class in the history of the universe.
But then, I still cry. And I still get so MAD because I watch Avery do something and wonder why Sophie and Aiden didn't get to do it. I get so hurt when I watch people with their twins.
Today is the 13th. 31 months since they lived and died. We went out for ice cream. We've gone out for ice cream on the 13th or 14th every single month since they were born.
Today I thought, we should stop. We should stop this. We can't eat ice cream every month for the rest of our lives.
But maybe we could.
I went to see the musical Jekyll and Hyde this week.
Sometimes I feel like that-like I am two separate, complete people. One woman, who is so happy, so blessed, so lucky.
One who is so sad. So unfortunate. So judged. So sad. In such despair.
There's more than "just" the twins. There's my father, who is absent from my life. Who was so horrible to me an my family. Who is always trying to get back in. Who lays on the guilt. Who is mentally ill.
There's the fact that my father in law died of cancer right before we got pregnant with the twins.
There's the fact that his wife and daughter are depressed and have their own mental illnesses, who add so much to the guilt I feel all the time.
There's the fact that my husband and I are doing very well, but we are so stressed and I feel a little disconnected from him.
There's the fact that I think I want to have another baby, but I feel absolutely CRAZY for even wanting to try that.
I feel like I can never be truly happy.
But that I'm not really depressed.
I wish my mom lived closer. I wish my family wanted to be around Avery. She's so amazing. I wish they knew how important it was to me to remember my babies.
You can tell me. If you think I should be past this. If you think I should go talk to my doctor. Because I really don't know. I really don't know when I'm supposed to say, ok, lady, you need to get it together. You're too sad. You're just too sad.
I wish someone would tell me.
I just wish it were all different.
But I love Avery so much, so I can't wish it was too different anymore.
Ugh. Two different people. Two different lives. Two different universes.
#MicroblogMondays 143: Boots
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