Most days I’m fine. Or at least I do my best to be. I push away all the feelings of inadequacy out of my mind and play a game of pretend. No, that’s not completely true, but on days like today that’s how it feels. Like I was playing pretend.

Almost four years ago I had a baby, and not too long after I had a touch of what I think was post-partum depression. I was never truly diagnosed, I wasn’t ashamed of it either, but my too-tough-for-doctors-and-pills exterior wouldn’t allow me to admit to any ‘problem’ I might be having. If something wasn’t hurting me physically then what was the point of complaining about it to some doctor – I would just work it out myself.

I would just buy a book, research online, write out my problems and realise what was really bothering me – I could do it myself and it would just work itself out. I would find things to temporarily ease any anxiety out of my head – eating topped the list but also buying tons of makeup, clothes, and when in doubt, late night ebay would always do the trick.

And I’m still not really quite sure what brings on a day of crying, yelling, and anger/sadness. I still haven’t pinpointed the exact trigger for these days. Sometimes I blame it on PMS, extra hormones, etc, but sometimes I feel lost because I can’t make reason of it. Today was one of those days.

A day where I cried, complained about my weight, my job-less state, my inability to keep things clean and orderly as well as my inability to cook perfect meals every single day. I seek perfection in all that I do – that’s how I was raised, it’s perfect or nothing with me, something I struggle to change everyday, and there’s certain days that nothing comes together and I cry and get a migraine and it just sucks.

It goes away after a day or so. My boyfriend tries to find solutions to my problems (we’ll lose the weight together after we move, let’s decide on a career and I’ll back you up all the way, we can order pizza tonight) and after a day of fun it tends to drift away, but it will most likely always be there.

My mother struggled with it, and that’s what scares me the most, perhaps. I don’t want to end up like my mother, and I also don’t want to end up on any medication. I just don’t care. I’ll do it my way. I’ll read and try to work through it.

xoxo

Fab Brunette

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