You can’t give up when you have children.
On Wednesday, Mitt Romney visited the Community Center where I work. It was four days of intense, horrible, exciting insanity. The next day we all were worn out, with headaches, of course myself included. After being at work for only about 40 minutes, however, my head pain shot from a normal, easy to treat and live with 2 to a scary 9 in about 30 seconds. I had to take every single medication at my disposal to not return to the ER, where I’d just been Sunday (successfully). And then, for some reason, depression even swifter and scarier than the head pain crushed me out of nowhere. I had to leave the desk and go curl up in the hard, dark corner of the staff room, using my Parks & Recreation fleece as a pillow. With ice on my head in the fetal position, realizing that once again after that day I’d be out of meds and would have to find more. Even as the pain began to ease, I just felt like I’d rather die than continue having to balance and fight and beg for the substances that keep me comfortable and functional every day. For some reason they just won’t give me enough, because of the “danger” of rebound headache I guess, never mind that I’m in pain every fucking day anyway.
Tears started to drip down my cheeks and I wished I were dead. The emotional pain was almost worse than the physical had been, that unabating, sudden drive to just give up. Say, fuck it, I’m done. The life I have is not worth living. Except for X and Zo, who NEED a mother. (And John, my partner… but at least his development is complete, and I’m sure he’d love again – someone who could actually give him something back and help out more around the house.) How to stay alive, and sane, and at least sort of present, so that those girls might have a semblance of a normal life?
Two days later, in bed, I still don’t know. I don’t know what in the hell to do, but I do know I’m fucking sick of living this way. Fucking sick.