Confessions of a Serial Procrastinator- A Journal Entry


This is the second day in a row that I can’t get up before 12. I’m not really tired physically but I am mentally and emotionally drained. My heart feels as if it has been broken in a million different pieces. I react so strongly because my depression has already taken a turn for the worse. I’m manic but this time I cannot act out like I normally do. My heart hurts my body hurts. I just want to drift back to sleep.

Its 11:45 I think my son has sensed that something is off once again in our world. He sleeps but I know he’ll be up soon. He’ll need me to feed him, to interact with him, to guide him throughout the day to mother him. I don’t want to do any of that. The voice I’ve started to hear these past few days tell me that I never want to do it again. I shake my head furiously to rid the voice and watch my son. The voice is right I don’t want to ever do it again. But he is my love, the only thing that is ever right in this horrible life of mind. I scroll through my phone for a babysitter. Maybe I’ll feel better if I can sleep for the rest of the day. Just as I go to make the first phone call I remember that my family is mourning.

The death is shocking this is why I haven’t been able to leave my house. I sigh and wait for my son to stir again. My side hurts my back hurts, my legs itch. I toss I turn. I moan in pain. I fight sleep because I know if I don’t I’ll sleep the day away. He finally stirs for the final time and ambles off to the bathroom and then back in bed with me.

“Mom are we getting up today? It’s your birthday.” He plays in my hair and pats my back as if to comfort me. Right now he’s the adult.

“Yeah baby let’s get up.” We do and into the kitchen. I make eggs and bacon and let him eat candy while he waits I don’t even try to be a good mom. I notice he has on clothes from two days ago. Did he go to school like that? I serve his food and pick at mine. He’s off to play; I go back to bed and cry myself back to sleep.

I’m still sad hours later, my body is on fire. I hurt so bad I don’t realize my hunger but I do know its hours since I fed him. I turn my phone back on there are plenty of text messages and voicemails to answer. I turn it off and start dinner. My son returns from wherever he’s been. He brings a friend and the sounds of their voices and their playing feel like pins to my skin. I scream in agony at least once…

In preparation of National Novel Writing Month, I was going through some old notes and found this journal entry. It made my heart ache but I’m glad that I documented those raw emotions.

I really was close to a break down months ago. I was at rock bottom and it still took me another 9 months to decide enough is enough. It’s amazing that I was still pretending. I pulled up pictures from that same week and sure enough my smile was as big as ever.

Finding this entry is even more inspiration to press on with my journey. I’m afraid of not getting the help I need. I thought twice about sharing this entry but I have to remember that the whole point of this blog series is not only an outlet for me, but also to encourage other people to get the help they need.


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