The Take Down
I know that my mental health issues drag people down. I’m not easy to be around on a bad day, not for those closest to me.
I’ve got pretty good at the cover up. Out of the house I can be chirpy, helpful, warm. But at home its a totally different story. I’m snappy, grumpy, cutting and cold. I isolate myself and pick on the smallest things. My husband takes the brunt of it. I’ll see that he’s really trying, offering suggestions of things to do, holding my hand. But I’m an ice queen. I’ll shrug and give one word answers. I make his life so difficult.
I’ll lay in bed at night, with him snoring beside me, and be overwhelmed by guilt. It’s awful. I’ll feel ungrateful, undeserving, sinking myself down further into my bad mood.
And then there’s poor Moo. She’s growing up in a home with a mother that can’t keep her shit together. I worry about the repercussions on her development, if she’ll suffer ill mental health too. I shouldn’t inflict this crap on another human being. I wonder if she might have been better off if I’d run away at the beginning. I’m praying that I’m showing her enough love on the better days, that she knows that I’m doing my best, that the good outweighs the bad.
I want her home to be a happy one, I want her to feel secure. I want her to see her parents be loving towards each other. I want my husband to feel cherished, supported, appreciated. I don’t want to take everyone down with me.