Looking through old files today, I found a few things I wrote years back when I was really struggling. Now I see that I was dealing with undiagnosed depression. This was written when Little Man was 17 months old; before he wore any labels of diagnoses.
May 10, 2004
Keep moving…don’t stop
If you stop, it will all fall down and crumble in a heap.
Like the adrenaline the day Little Man was born
Or was it the morphine?
Don’t think…just do…go
If I stop to try to make sense of it all
I won’t be able to get up and get going again
I’ll be mired in the mud.
Can’t think about the stress, the pressure
Can’t truly process it right now
Have to just get through…and deal with it later
Hickory ice. If you stop, you fall in.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
You are the cow… pump, nurse, pump, bottle, pump
Try to get him to stop crying…go to sleep…please.
Every time I get up, the pain is so intense.
It feels like tearing inside
The incision is ripping inside
My heart is tearing
But I have to keep getting up…again and again.
He needs me
I need me
Over time things heal
The incision still hurts, but it’s better
My heart is better
But there will always be scars.