Thursday – August 3, 2017 (9:37 AM)

Depression is a strange thing. You would think that after dealing with this mental illness for more than half of my life, that I would have some sort of control over it.

There’s days when it’s possible to maneuver around my roller coaster of emotions, and then there’s times when I have to just throw in the towel and let it take over.

This morning I threw in the towel.

But the hardest part of it all is that I succumbed to this depression in front of my son. As he sat there crying, I broke down and cried with him.

He was upset. He wanted his daddy. His daddy had to go to work. I’m not his daddy.
No matter what I did to try to console my child was not enough, because this morning he simply wanted his daddy.

So while he sat there crying, I began to cry with him. Every time I attempted to hold him and give him a hug, he screamed and pushed me away. And every time he did those things, my heart broke just a little bit more.

There’s times when Everest wants his daddy, and there’s times when he wants his mommy. This is normal, and usually easy to deal with. But today was hard. We were on day three of this new morning routine of him crying and screaming for his dad, and today I gave up.

I sat there thinking a multitude of reasons as to why he prefers his daddy over me.

I’m not good enough.

I don’t make him happy.

I’m the bad guy.

I’m a horrible mother.

He doesn’t love me. 

It sounds crazy typing this out after all is said and done. It’s ridiculous to even think those things. But that is how depression works.

It’s manipulative. It’s a master of illusion. I honestly believed those allegations.

In retrospect, I understand that such statements are not true. And even so, I sit here wondering if I’m capable. Capable of what? Everything.

Am I capable to make it through the day? Am I capable of being a better mother? Am I capable of not making myself feel guilty? Am I capable of just letting go and move on?

There’s one thing that I have learned after having my son. Prior to his arrival, I would have given up. I probably would have dug a deep hole within my mind and drowned in my depression, because that’s what depression can feel like. Drowning.

However, once Everest entered my life, I found different ways to deal with the complexity of this mental illness. One of those ways was to not ignore the situation, but to address it. I learned to “talk” myself out of certain situations that often seemed unbearable.

This morning I had to let myself cry. I let my son witness my moment of weakness.

After what felt like an eternity, the tears finally subsided, and I picked myself back up.

The beautiful thing about Everest and the way his mind works is that he is very understanding. He has a sensitive heart, and knows when others are hurt. He hates to see others in pain, and often times he feels that same agony. Everest is extremely empathetic. Just like his mother.

As soon as I sat up, he took his little hands and placed them on my cheeks. He wiped my tears, and I began to wipe his. He told me not to be sad. He held me in his tiny arms.

I said, “I’m sorry.”

He said, “Me too.”