Will you feed my depression with chocolate and coffee and hugs?

It’s been a rough 24 hours. And the later it gets into the night, the more I’m allowing myself to feel it.

I was actually in the middle of writing my tomorrow post. A little behind the scenes for you, I like to have my posts for the day done by 8:30am at the latest. I used to have about 45 minutes of “free” time in the morning before my husband went to work…but I no longer have that. My mornings are occupied with driving my son to school, and even more recently, driving the baby to his newest swallowing therapy right after school drop off. So now, I try to at least start my posts from the night before.

But that’s already too many words for talking about feelings this late at night.

Let’s get into it.

I’m sick of this shit.

I’m sick of so many things. Of people being stupid.

PREDICTABLY stupid…but hurtful nonetheless. (Talking about you now, adoptive parents. Ok fine, you’re not stupid, but you ARE neglectful and hurtful and don’t seem to realize the weight of your importance in my life).

I’m sick of doctors. And appointments. And things just being wrong.

I’m sick of the constant, constant stress and anxiety of things just being wrong. Medically complicated, with no solution wrong.

I’m tired of this sudden and severe urge to self medicate. And of the push and pull of both needing and asking for support, and then immediately pushing it away because obviously I don’t need it or you and I’m just being stupid so just go away.

And this is why alcohol

This is why alcohol. And pills, and self injury. And whatever the fuck else.

Because feelings.

Feelings with no outlet. No solution….just…nowhere to go. Or to be seen, or heard.

My life is so big and so much and so complicated to the point where I can’t even begin to explain it! Because you’d probably think I’m full of shit.

Like, yes. ALL of that really happened to me…and more. All of it.

Yes it sounds fake.

Yes it sounds fucked up.

And yes, it’s all true. All of it.

There’s a REASON why when I say “if you can think of it, I’ve been through it”.

It’s because it’s so fucking true.

If you can think of, I’ve VERY likely been though it.

And I suppose tonight?

I’m feeling all of it.

And I’m a little bit angry. And a little bit hurting.

But mostly, just a lot bit broken.

Can I please.


Just lay down and die somewhere? For a few days at least?

Can I please just go and make myself a little cave of blankets where I don’t have to think or exist or deal with a crisis or put out a fire or…anything?!?

Please, send blankets.

Send a fucking rooms worth of blankets. And pillows.

So I can drown out the fires and all of the many crises and whatnot.

For the next week?

I want blankets and pillows and coffee and alcohol and mindless entertainment.

Yes please.

No more fires.

No more dead babies.

Or babies I don’t get to parent.

Or kids that I don’t do parent being so fucked up that no one knows what to do with us other than beg the NIH to take our case (which they’ve already agreed to.)

So, yes please.

Therapy (my own, not theirs), blankets, coffee, alcohol, support from friends, and hugs.

That is what I will accept this week.

Nothing else.

No more drama please. No more hard. And no more messy.

Maybe just love. And hugs. And pats on the head.

But don’t forget the coffee and alcohol.

And chocolate.


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