We're all made up of so many different layers, but the outer one - the one that most people would say is who we are - is the one that shows who we want to be the most.
My outer layer is precisely that. It is who I want to be more often than not: generally cheerful, caring, thoughtful, smart, appreciative and worthy. Worthy of so much, but mostly just worthy of people's time and attention. And that is the snag in my outer layer, the gap where everything I push down and brick away comes pushing in.
My other layers are dark and ugly. It is the voice that always reminds me I am less than, I am not worthy of anyone's time or attention. That I am mean, ugly, judgemental, stupid and so very selfish. The sad thing is that voice mostly sounds like my mother. The sadder thing is I only manage to push it away and brick it up when there is overwhelming evidence to counter that voice. Hearing that voice is and has been my normal for as long as I can remember.
And lately that voice has been all I hear. Everything is tainted. All I do is not good enough. All I am is less than. I am not worthy of anyone's time or attention.
I am failing at being a mother.
I am failing at being an adult.
I am failing.
I am less than.
After reading posts by Cath and Sharon, I realised that the voice had gone from being the tiny constant soundtrack it had always been to this large massive roar. And maybe I should do something about it. Even then I resisted, my voice, my state of being is so much less than all the other people I know of who have that D word. I mean I get up, I don't stay in bed, I do what must be done. So surely I'm just being - as I'd been told often while growing up - a drama queen, and making something much bigger than it is.
It finally hit home for me that I should do something when we had two weeks of glorious sunny winter weather, and not once did I take Keiden to the park. We only left the house to go downstairs to the shop to get something to add to lunch, but mostly for me to get something sweet. I had really and truly failed as a mother.
It is my greatest fear that I will become my mother. That I will hurt my son the way I was hurt. That my actions, but more my words, will make him feel less than. And there I was not doing something that was as easy as taking a ten minute walk, so he could play somewhere that wasn't just home.
So something was done. Mandy got me some names, I looked at them on this site and saw someone. And all along she, Cath, Sharon and Lisa have all assured me that I'm not being a drama queen, and that this was the right thing to do.
And this is the part where I tell you, I have moderate levels of anxiety and have severe clinical depression. That medication is recommended. That therapy is hard, and brings up so much I'd much rather push down and away...and my capacity to push it away is now gone. That even though I've been told this, and there is evidence that I'm not just being a drama queen...I can't shake the less than feeling.
My depression doesn't look like what I've seen in others. I don't just stay in bed; I get up, I look after my child, we play games, read stories, I do chores, I work. So how can it be that bad?
And then I remember that the games we play let me sit, sometimes I just can't get the chores done...and I eat. I eat so much, and I don't need to eat all the time. But I see my hand reaching out, picking up a cookie or a chocolate or something and then that something is gone. And then there's another in my hand. And so it goes on. And when I'm not eating, and I can, I bury myself in a series or a game or reading.
So, maybe there is something to it.
Why share this? When others shared it helped me see things a bit more clearly, and maybe this can help someone else see things a bit more clearly. And it's also something tangible to refer to when the voice tells me I'm blowing things out of proportion.