I’ve spent so many years doing what is expected of me or what I believe is expected of me. It’s what I am good at: it keeps me on track, keeps me motivated, and gets me out of bed every morning. I would go to the gym four days a week for a total of about 8 hours. I would go to school two days a week. I would help out in Jalie’s class on Fridays, go grocery shopping every other Monday, and go to church on Sunday. I had to get up, I had to keep moving, I always had somewhere to be. However this fact irritates my husband. He has been on me for the past year to do what I want and screw what everyone else thinks. So I tried it this week…BAD IDEA.
This miscarriage wasn’t just a huge emotional and physical blow. Over the last four months, that schedule that got me out of bed has been hacked to bits. I haven’t been to the gym in weeks. I just took an incomplete in my favorite class. I haven’t been in my daughter’s classroom for more than 10 minutes. Everything seemed to be falling apart. I no longer had my precious schedule to keep me going. My husband thought this would be the perfect time for me to stop worrying about my schedule and what I felt like I had to do, the perfect time to just do “what Jakota wants!” Well, what does anyone in the midst of a major depression want to do? NOTHING.
Yup, for the last week I’ve done nothing. Well, not exactly. I’ve done as little as humanly possible. I stopped getting up in the morning to help get the kids ready for school. I wore mostly pajamas or loose non-descript clothes. I pulled my hair back right out of the shower and didn’t put on a drop of makeup. I left the house only for appointments that could not be canceled. I created a permanent divot in my couch; it’s the exact shape of my ass. And I watched almost every episode of the 10 seasons of JAG. And guess what? It made me feel worse.
Jason insists this is normal; I needed time to grieve and recover, etc. For most people this may be true, but unfortunately for my well-meaning and very loving husband, not for me. His good intentions blew up in his face this morning when I dragged my lazy ass out of bed and got in the shower before 10 am. He asked why I was in the shower so early. I rewarded his well-meaning question with 20 minutes of snapping, yelling, accusing, and basic bitching. Poor guy…
Basically, I cannot do what I want to do right now because I am depressed and what I want to do is nothing but do nothing makes me more depressed. Confused? I just have to do what I think I’m supposed to do otherwise my ingrained Catholic guilt (you can convert all you want but it never seems to go away) drives me insane. So I’ve decided from now on I am going through the motions: getting out of bed, going where I’m supposed to go, doing what I am supposed to do, and spending limited time in my ass divot. I’m sure it will miss me!
