“Why do you enjoy torturing me?” I shout on an extremely rotten day. I say it partly to Choo-choo and partly to God.
I know, however, that they don’t enjoy it. They aren’t even torturing me. My depression makes me feel like they are. It makes me believe they are. It makes me so that is the only truth I have in this particular moment.
Choo-choo says, “Me hug Mommy.” He squeezes his arms around me. “Mommy all better now.” Then comes the kicker: “Mommy happy.”
I don’t know exactly what my depression is doing to him. I worry about it every day. I hope as time passes, he has memories of happy Mommy. I try to give him as many joyful moments with me now as possible. I want to do all I can to give him examples of how to fight through the sadness and anger to peace.
I hug him in return, tears still spilling down my cheeks, telling him honestly that yes, Mommy is happy right now.