This is where the dark takes me.
To places where I begin to question whether motherhood is really something I can do. Where I start to fantasise about pills and escaping and curling up in a corner and never coming out.
Where life gets too much and all I can see is the pain I'm causing everyone around me. The frustration in their eyes that I'm 'still not better'. The anger when they recount to me that they are doing more than they are capable of to help me, everything that they know of to fix me. But that I'm not stepping up. I'm not responding. What more do I need?
But I don't love her any less.
I don't love him any less.
I still feel a heart glow when she smiles, and when she laughs.
I still try to make a clean house because I know that makes him happy.
I read her stories because I know that makes her happy.
I do my best and sometimes I manage to even look happy.
Sometimes I can laugh. Those are good days. Day's when I manage to do things. When I can get out of bed without thinking about how I am drowning.
I remember before she came along. How excited I was. How happy I imagined life would be.
But I was wrong. Perhaps I am not supposed to be a mother.
But that doesn't mean I regret her for even one instant. Because she is perfect. She is my light. But she is also my darkness and in the darkness I believe she deserves better than I can provide.
That is where the dark takes me.
