I love the title, “stay at home dog mom.” It puts such a positive spin on my life. It makes it sound like I’m actually doing something, taking care of something. But, I’m not. Not really. My boyfriend feeds the dogs, he walks them, and does everything else for them. But I’ve got the cuddles.
See, for the past year, I’ve been a stay at home dog mom. Not a very good one by any means, but one nonetheless.
A year ago depression hit me hard. It left me in bed binge watching Friends for a month straight. Depression made me leave school, again. And I was actually doing well that time. I can’t help but look back and feel helpless. Why couldn’t I just find the strength to keep going? Why in the hell couldn’t I just get up. If I had known the impact of my choices, would I have gotten out of bed? I would have a life right now, I would be working and have friends and be a human. But, I feel as though I’m none of those things. Not anymore.
These days, I do good to get up and go to a coffee shop for a few hours. Hell, lately I do good to get up and make it to my front porch. I slept until 2pm yesterday.
I feel as though the outside world may be judging me. When they ask what I’ve been up to, I’ve got nothing to say. I mean, I could say I’ve been working on my depression, but that’s not an “appropriate” response.
I wish there had been something else I’ve fully committed myself to working on. I wish I were selling things online, starting a business, traveling, doing SOMETHING. But, there’s not.
I feel ashamed. I feel like my life isn’t mine anymore. I wake up, take my boyfriend to work, come home, and sleep the day away until it’s time to pick him back up. I don’t do things around the house like I should, I don’t clean up messes, I do good to shower and change my clothes. My mind and my body and tired. I can’t find the energy.
What does it look like when I do try? Well, it looks like my day so far.
4am: I wake up to my boyfriend telling me that we slept through his alarms, we should be leaving right now. I yelled at him, turned over, and sarcastically asked if he’s made coffee yet. The poor man is sitting there with a coffee mug full of coffee just waiting to love me.
4:30am: I put my shoes on, grab my wallet and keys and we head out the door. This morning, we had to pick up his coworker who was out of the way. I wasn’t thrilled about this, and I made that known. I complained the whole time.
5am: I drop off my boyfriend and his coworker not even a mile from our house. When I leave, I notice they end up driving past our place anyway. There was no need for me to drop him off this morning. They could have picked him up. I was upset.
5:30am: I’m finally in bed going to sleep. I’m tossing and turning because I’m awake enough to stay up but not awake enough to get rid of the terrible hungover feeling I had from such a little night’s sleep.
7am: My alarm goes off. I could have gotten up. I didn’t. I turned it off and went back to sleep.
9:30am: I finally wake up and get out of bed. I pour some coffee and head out to the front porch. I look up subscription boxes for mental health. I read an article about what it’s like to have an illness that requires you to stay home. I scroll trough Facebook.
10:18am: It’s currently 10:18 and I’m writing this. My dogs are laying in the shade outside and I’m already smoking my 5th cigarette from just being out here since 9:30. My coffee is almost empty and that leaves me with the choice to make more, or get ready to go to the coffee shop.
I want to accomplish so much today. I want to get work done at the coffee shop then come home and clean up the house which is such a disaster that it’s probably contributing to my bad moods.
I want to do so many things, I want to be “normal” again. I don’t mean normal as in other people, but normal as in myself again. I want to strive and be ambitious. I want to live a life again.