This should come as no suprise to you - I think I might be depressed.
I'll wait until you recover your composure...uh, yeah. I know. Shocking revelation. (And on the off chance someone wants to flame me for inferring that I'm making fun of depression, I'm not. I use humor, albeit sometimes inapproriate humor, to deal.)
I'm tired but I can't sleep. When I do sleep, I don't want to get up. I can't get motivated. I can't concentrate. I'm making dumb mistakes at work. I'm eating everything in sight, and then when I try not to eat, I just eat more, and then feel like shit because I'm eating too much. Rinse, repeat. Nothing is fun to me, and when I realize I am having fun, I feel guilty. I miss them like hell and damn it, I don't want to deal with this anymore. I just can't. But I have to because I have no other option. So here I am. One hot mess.
Before the girls died, I was seeing a therapist for my divorce. I should have kept seeing her, but I didn't. I don't know why. Well, I do know why. I know there's something wrong and I don't think I need to be a medical professional to figure this one out. Even WebMD agrees with me. But to have someone confirm it, that scares me. Because I don't want to be medicated. I feel like a zombie sometimes already. I don't want to numb this pain but I'm tired of it insinuating itself into my life. Some days I can tell myself "get up, get moving, you can do this," and I do. But other days, and they are starting to be more frequent, I tell myself to go to hell, I don't wanna. And I don't. But instead of feeling better, I feel worse, because I feel like a failure. And the cycle just continues around again.
I thought coming back to work would cure what ails me. It would make me get up and get dressed. I do get up and I do get dressed but I just don't care anymore. My clothes don't fit and instead of telling myself "stop with the chips" I tell myself "I'll go shopping." I love to shop, but dude, that's not me. I'm too vain to buy a bigger size. I haven't yet, but it's tempting.
As I was writing this, I called my therapist and left a message to schedule an appointment. In the meantime, I will try to keep in mind that I can do this, but I can't do it alone. Maybe that's what is bothering me the most. I'm not as tough as I thought I was. No, it's admitting that I'm not as tough as I thought I was. And isn't that how the joke goes? The first step is admitting you have a problem.