Trying.

My least favorite thing about depression is when it shows.

I write about my depression often but in the real world, I try to hide it.

The key word here is try.

I want to try to hide it here sometimes and be more of Carrie Bradshaw writer and less of the emo one I am today and maybe that will come later. Writing is therapeutic for me and I keep some of my heavier writings to myself in order to spare you from my self pity.

But as I was saying, I try to hide my depression in real life. It still shows, however. It shows in my ashy ankles and dry lips. It shows in my bad attitude and my nonchalant-ness. It shows in the way I walk and the way I pose for pictures. It shows in my untied shoe laces. It shows in my hair and in the space between my cuticles and the nail polish that I need to redo. My least favorite is when it shows by how I care for my son.

Because all these things cause people to make other judgements on me, like I’m just unkept, or uncool, or a bad mom. I understand why it may seem that way but no, I’m really just depressed.

It hurts when I think I’m doing well at covering it up and someone points out my dry lips or bad attitude. Like damn, I thought I had that covered. Or even worse when I catch it myself after being out in public where I’m sure someone else caught it too but just didn’t say anything.

Like the time I realized I walked around the whole store with my zipper down. Actually, someone did catch it that time but it was the cashier. At that point everyone had already seen it. Or maybe no one did but in my head they did, because another thing I suffer from is social anixety but that’s a story for another post.

That’s the thing with depression though and I didn’t realize until I read it somewhere, is that when you’re depressed you don’t take care of yourself as much as you should. I mean that may seem obvious but I didn’t know. I thought they were separate issues I was dealing with not realizing that it was all apart of the same problem.

So you could imagine, that with years of depression (since I was a little girl) that I haven’t been taking good care of myself basically my whole life.

It should be said, that my depression comes and goes. So there are times in between when I do care for myself. I’m not always a mess.

It still amazes me how much better I look when I make the simplest effort of self care. Like imagine if I did this all the time? I would be Beyonce!

But I don’t. I’m trying though.

I was talking to my mom the other day, well arguing with my mom, and I started talking about where she went wrong in her parenting. Then she started talking about my parenting. Like first of all lady, I’m only 2 years in! Give me a break. You’re nearly 40 years in and still can’t get it right.

Her comments made me literally break down. I dropped to the floor.

A bad mom? You mean to tell me this is just another thing I can’t get right?

I try so hard to be aware of how I’m raising my son. To make sure I’m meeting all of his needs.

But I realized, and I pointed out to her as well, that her critiques were symptoms of my depression. The things she said I wasn’t doing for my son, I wasn’t even doing for myself.

Which goes back to Brene Brown’s talks on vulnerability. We can not love anyone more than we love ourselves. How can I do those things for my son when I didn’t even do them for myself? Of course, this is not intentionally.

It brought me to an awful thought, that maybe I should have just aborted. Not because I don’t love my son but because I do. I had doubts about me being able to do this parenting thing alone. His father isn’t absent but he is still a child himself. A 30+ years old child, but you know how that goes. Anyways, I was worried. Well, my fears have came to life.

My depression had went away when my son was born, for the longest it had ever been gone. For about a year and a half, I was depression free. But now it is back and it affecting the way I parent. Which was my fear.

I’m left with no choice but to figure this out. I want to be a better me, so I can be a better mom for him.

Him.

I’m trying.

– Chieaynne

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