It’s My Birthday & I’ll Cry if I Want To

All I can think about right now is death, specifically my death and how intensely I am yearning for it.

Christmas eve which we celebrate with hubby’s family and Christmas Day with mine both went well, I hosted for over 20 people and managed to pull it off, but on Christmas night after the last of the relatives left the farm, exhaustion set in and my false front crumbled into a river of unexplainable tears.

When I woke up on boxing day, hungover from a night of heavy sobbing, the black cloud had well and truly descended once again.

Today is my 33rd birthday and I can’t help but wish with my whole heart that I wasn’t here to have it. It’s 2:27 in the afternoon and I’m still in bed, hiding in the forgiving shadows of intermittent slumber.

I told the children that I have a headache and unplugged the phone when nobody was looking so I don’t have to deal with the phony well wishes doing the right thing. I’m not up for lying about how my day has been right now and God knows that they aren’t up for the truth.

I hate this, I hate what I have become.

Hubby knows that something is wrong but can’t seem to believe that even I don’t know exactly what it is, ‘they’, the ever esteemed ‘they’, now say ‘chemical imbalances’ are unproven bullshit, purely a notion supported by the drug companies set to make a dollar and yet my feelings have once again 180’d overnight, without any reason what so ever as to why. Yes, I’m tired, but do most tired people want to die? This is fucking ridiculous.

I feel like I am lost at sea, drowning in an endless ocean where the relentless tides are ever changing, filling me with hope only to drag me right back under again. Now I’m just floating, praying for the circling sharks to come and take me away.

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