Sometimes it hits me, so suddenly and out of nowhere. The ugly beast known as depression rears its head and creeps into the corners of my mind, uninvited.
Today, maybe it’s because I’m tired. We live with other people, a lot of other people, and it’s exhausting. Their ins and outs, their constant nagging, the general atmosphere of the house: all of it combines to leave me completely wiped at the end of the day, my mind and body ready to collapse amidst the pillows and let sleep reset my soul.
But of course it can’t work that easily. Sleep doesn’t come, and by the time it does, exhaustion has set so deep into my bones that once Frank enters the room after a long shift, I hardly stir.
I’m ready to be alone again. I’m not a people person, I never have been. My solitude is precious, and a gift rare received now. I’m ready to have a place of our own that we call home, that draws us towards it, where Note marks their growth on the crowning in their doorway and Treble takes those tentative first steps and Karma sleeps, curled, upon the couch. I’m ready for us to have our own space, to breathe and live, where our existence isn’t measured in dirty dishes and resources wasted but in love and laughs. I’m ready for my child to be seen as more than a burden or a destroyer, and for the stillness to settle around us once everyone goes to bed.
I can’t say when that will all come to pass, but I know it is sometime soon.