I am so sick of being depressed. I don't have a reason for it, nothing's happened, no one died or left me or hit me or even spoke a cross word to me. And yet here I sit, sad, crying and full of self-loathing.
Last night, I think I ate my weight in Terra chips. Then I sat here and thought about how nice it would be if I could just be anorexic or bulimic for a while. Seriously. I wondered if I could make myself become that way. Instead, I felt guilty about thinking that way, so I ate some toast. It's fucking ridiculous. I can't seem to stop eating these days.
The rational part of my brain knows that it's because the Bug has been sick and doesn't want to eat solid food, she just wants some boob. Her nursing needs have probably doubled - she's nursing almost as often as she did when she was just a month old. Non-stop nursing makes me hungry. Seriously hungry.
I've been trying to counteract the hunger with good foods - fruits and humongous salads, but at night, when TCBIM is out or asleep and the kids are in bed, I start cruising the kitchen like a john cruising the Combat Zone. I thought about making falafel, but it was 10:30, far too late for that. I ate some goldfish crackers and stared into the cupboards. I yelled at myself, called myself some wonderful names and went back to the computer. Ten minutes later, I was back in the kitchen, making toast.
I hate myself when I get like this. I feel out of control and angry and guilty and all sorts of things. It's awful. It spills over into other areas of my life, too.
I feel guilty because I don't think I do enough with the kids. I don't have the money, time or inclination to take them to all these programs. I just don't want to. I go to a play group, which the girls and I both love. The women really are nice, far nicer than I ever hoped to find. They all seem to have their shit together, though. They show up with their hair done and a bit of make up on and no spit up or oatmeal or magic marker on their jeans. Their kids always look neat. Mine look a mess some days. As do I. They talk about things they do on the weekends or where they take their kids during the week and I just sit there, thinking what a lazy fuck I am for not doing more.
Why do I continually beat myself up this way? It's not like these women are competimommies, rubbing it in my face that they're better/smarter/more together than I am. I'm sure if I voiced these concerns, some of them would have the same problems, and if they didn't, they'd be supportive rather than derisive. But no, I don't say anything (and if any of you play group ladies are reading, hi. Yes, I really am nuts. Don't mind me, I'm mostly harmless.)
I just want something that will stop me from feeling this way, but that won't make me Hoover up the kitchen or have mad rashes or heart palpitations or destroy my already-dormant sex drive or make me sweat like a pig. I'm weaning off the Paxil because a. I don't think it's helping the depression one iota (given that I went thru a lovely bout of self-loathing not even a month ago) and 2. it gives me night sweats. It's disgusting.
Mostly I just want to stop feeling like I am the worst person in the world. I really, really hate feeling this way.