9pm

All too often I get into a spell with my depression that results in me feeling worthless. I’m there right now. I can’t get this apartment finished. I can’t keep up with everything I’m supposed to do. And the shittiest part is that I don’t even have that many responsibilities. Basic chores, an easy from home job that tends to average only ten hours a week, and my kid in daycare three days a week. This should be easy.

But as I struggle to move past the crushing disappointment of losing a job I loved through no fault of my own and the crazy spinning feeling that is my new married life, I find myself unable to figure it out. Monday Mr. Owl got so fed up he aggressively did most of the chores I’d been procrastinating for two weeks in about an hour. I sat on the couch in a terrified, paralyzed ball because that behavior from my father growing up never ended well.

I’m trying. But I’m not trying. I should be trying harder. This isn’t hard.

But I lay here tonight instead, eyes full of tears, sinking deeper, alone in bed at only 9pm. I feel worthless. I’m waiting for the spell to break. Surely he’ll realize his mistake soon in picking me.

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