I don't even know what to call this week...

Bleh.  It happened again. 

It's been a relatively long stretch since I've been depressed or whatever.  On Wednesday I woke up with sort of a paralyzing fear of facing my life that day.  I didn't want to get out of bed.  

When I did manage to emerge around 1pm, I did it from the safety of a hoodie.  (Mark was home and took over.)

For the rest of the day I tried to collect myself and be a functioning human being again but all attempts failed...

Yup, just something that happens to me.  I'm trying to be ok with that fact.  It only prolongs the sadness to be angry at myself for feeling that way.  So I ride it out and try to be patient with me.

Occasionally telling myself things like this helps:

(either that or it's really annoying)

Of course that's only helpful for a little while - until the novelty wears off.  

In the past I've been able to climb out of it by working myself into an excited tizzy about some project:

That usually makes me feel better about life for a little while, because at least I'm productive.   And being productive is good, right?!

Nope.

I've been keeping a journal for a few months and I can see that for me, too much productivity easily leads to a crash.  

In the interest of being "real" and transparent, I'm letting you all know about it.  No concerned phone calls needed.  I'm ok.  The girls are fine.  They have a mommy who just sits around and is available for snuggles.  They seem to enjoy it. 

This is just life.  It's all part of the journey.  But it's not my favorite part.

 (Thank you, Allie Brosch for providing the illustrations and humor to this post.)