Depression is such a boring topic. It’s not even an accurate descriptive of my feelings. I am not sad. I don’t have the “baby blues”. I’m just stuck inside of a bucket deep in a well of my own making, there are times when the bucket rises and I can see blue skies and butterflies and then other times the rope seems to slip and I delve deeper into this dark pit of nothingness.
The horrible part of all of this is that I KNOW THIS IS HAPPENING. And I can’t seem to pull myself out of it. I shake my head at myself in constant amazement that I cannot seem to “level” myself out.
A big problem for me lately is my anti-social behaviour.
With three weeks left in this house, I keep stealing glances at my surroundings and thinking of the memories that happened there. The cuddles on the sofa, Holland’s first steps in the living room, the playtime in the bathtub, the hours in the sun playing on the deck in the backyard.
Although this place was a rental, I still attempted to make it feel like home as much as possible. I wanted my children to grow up in a “temporary” house that felt like our own. We didn’t paint or spend too much money on the interiors – Jay, the practical one in our relationship, didn’t want to invest in a place that we didn’t own. I agree with him, but I still feel that you can add your own personal taste into a space without compromising budget or making it a permanent change.