I can't do life today but I still win.

My particular brand of crazy (PMDD) has officially made its postnatal appearance. How can I tell? I've been crying for two days. The house is a disaster. Three of my children are currently naked, one is poopy, and all of them are hungry. They've been running around like banshees (further) destroying the house and watching a ton of TV while I sink into the black hole of the Internet. I'm not being a good mom. If I didn't feel numb, I would feel guilty. And tired. So tired. Tired of crying. Tired of trying to keep it all together. Tired of questioning my worth. Tired of being terrified (and terrifying.)

It's tough to distinguish the line where normal mom exhaustion ends and The Other starts because momming is freaking HARD and often just plain shitty. The only reason I know my life meter is still hovering around "okay" is because I'm not tired of living. I'm still doing this life thing, even if I'm doing it rather poorly and even if I can't seem to find my ability to care right now.

My spirit animal

In the fight against depression, if you're breathing, you're winning.

Inhale, exhale
Win, win, win!
Something, something
Safety pin!

Holy shitskies, do depressed people make awful cheerleaders.

The point: you got this. Even if you do nothing but sit on your butt and binge watch Netflix or read 27,452 tweets today, you're still winning.

Keep winning, peeps. And, as always, if you ever feel like you don't want to do it anymore, please say something. No fear. No shame.