By Beca

It happened even earlier today. The awareness of the heaviness in my chest; the weight on my shoulders; the desperate, nagging wish to crawl back into bed and stay there all day. But I couldn’t. I was driving to work. Yesterday I didn’t notice it until lunchtime, managing to push my way through nearly half the workday before recognizing, admitting, allowing the yawning sadness to worm its way into my consciousness. Today is going to be even longer.

On the surface I appear to be functioning, thriving even. My son is dressed, fed and off to school on time. I am showered, dressed, fed (a donut and a gingerbread latte, but it counts). I am slowly working my way through the pile of work on my desk. I even have makeup on and my dogs are in my truck waiting to be walked at lunch because the guilt of leaving them locked in their kennels another full day was too much for me this morning. But if you look beneath the surface you’ll notice the sink of dishes waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher, the massive dust bunnies overtaking the corners of the living room, the lineup of children’s movies by the DVD player waiting to entertain my child, and the significant number of fast food bags stuffed guiltily in the trash can. Underneath I am sad, so heavily sad.

I push through, knowing this has come and gone before, taking my happy pills, bathing in the light of my happy lamp, going through the motions and hoping that repetitive action, motion will remind my brain what it needs to
do.