I guess realization is the first step towards recovery.
A few days ago, my husband asked me if we were boring. I immediately had to concede that, even if he isn’t, I most certainly am. I spend most of my days following link bait on media websites like Facebook, doing schoolwork, playing video games, and doing household chores – laundry, dishes, cooking. I sometimes go to the gym or walk my dog. I rarely visit with friends or family. Once in a blue moon, I will invite people over to my place to play card or board games, but even those are pretty rare now (a lot of my appetite for fun died when my son did).
Almost everything that people ask me ends in “I don’t know” or, worse yet, “I don’t care”. I let myself coast along on other people’s plans, and very seldom have my own opinions. At a recent job interview, the interviewer asked me to tell them about myself, and I scrambled to find an answer. I am as interesting and exciting as dry toast.
I don’t know how long I have been like this, but it must have been a while, because I realized that I was banking on motherhood fixing this. I have so little to define myself by that I was looking forward to being able to say “I’m a mother” as a way to define me. (You don’t need to tell me that that isn’t healthy – I already know.) Since that didn’t pan out, I don’t know what’s left, besides ‘pretty much nothing’.
I flop back and forth often between two extremes: trying to make absolutely everything better at the same time, and not being bothered with anything at all because it feels like nothing is worth it. If I’m not power-cleaning the house or mass applying to volunteer positions, I’m laying in bed and trying to figure out why I don’t care that my life is so utterly unremarkable that I let my days blend together. I wonder if I would still feel this way if Brock were here. I don’t think so… but is that really a better outcome? Is apathy okay if you are okay with it?
This got depressing quickly. Here’s a picture of a funny Corgi to lighten the mood.