Super Mom

I read this on a journal I frequent a couple of months ago:

“She prides herself on being “supermom” because on a daily basis she cleans, cooks, takes care of her kid, runs errands for other peoples, makes it to doctor appointments, cleans some more. Welcome to everyones real life? This isn’t anything to write home about.“

That made me think about what I’ve done today. I cleaned off one shelf in my bedroom. I cleaned out the window box. I vacuumed a little on the hard wood floor. I cleaned the rat cage, and watered plants. I washed the dishes and fixed lunch. I tore down some spider webs and rearranged the house plants in the window box. Right now, I’m emotionally exhausted and I can’t fathom doing much more today. It’s called depression, and it’s more than “feeling sad”. Depression takes a lot out of a person. Depression makes even the simplest tasks, such as washing a load of dishes in the dishwasher, a major accomplishment. Depression makes you want to stay in bed all day and then make you feel worthless at the end of the day when you haven’t done anything. Depression makes you feel like you’re not a benefit to society, even when you bring home 90s on your midterms or ace a class.

After reading the complaints that journaler posted about that other woman, I’m wondering if the other woman doesn’t have depression herself or something similar.

Depression isn’t just something you get over. I’ve been on anti-depressants for nearly nine years, and I’m nowhere near getting well. I may be one of those people who has depression all her life.

Many people don’t get my depression. I am financially secure. I can accomplish almost anything. I have accomplished a lot in my twenty-nine years on this planet. I have over come many hardships. I have a good attitude. I smile most of the time. But deep down, I am sad and unmotivated, and people just don’t understand that. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told that if someone else just had my money, or life, or friends, they’d never be depressed. I really think that is not depression. The grass is just greener on my side of the fence because I shit on it so much. Shit makes grass grow green and healthy. After a while, anyway. Most people who have never been depressed do not understand anyone’s depression. I was actually told by an online acquaintance to “stop being so sad!” the day after my dog of ten years died. Again, the depression magnified my grief, but that person had never been close to an animal, so she never really understood how one could be so attached to a dog that they would cry over it when it died.

Depression isn’t simple. I can’t explain it all in a blog or journal. I live it. It affects me in ways I wish it didn’t. I’m sure there’s someone out there reading this, thinking that I am a pussy or that the few things I did get done today mean nothing because they have done far more. If that’s how you want to be, fine. Be that way. Have everyone hate you. :-} As for me? I’m just me. For now, I like me. So there.

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