I can’t rectify being honest and speaking truthfully with not complaining and whining. It’s an inner battle that I struggle with every time I write. Where is the line? Am I complaining or narrating? Documenting or whining? I have no clue.
I’m always going to get that disgusted feeling I get when I talk about my problems. That feeling where I feel less than human for being honest. That “other people have worse problems” feeling. If you’ve dealt with depression in any way, you’ll be familiar with that feeling. It’s one of the many reasons we are all so good at blending in.
I woke up in such a foul mood today. Everything is annoying me and frustrating me. On days like today I like to just sit with my kids and watch cartoons with them. I like to hold them and just hang on. They always bring this really warm calming feeling that washes over me. The air gets warm and the oxygen feels at maximum saturation and I can breathe. I can feel their genuineness, their sincerity, their adoration.
It’s so odd how quickly everything melts while the kids are in my arms. I can’t be near anyone else on these days. No one. The thought of even looking at another person is unbearable.