Lately.

It's been hard lately.

You started a new work; which left us transitioning back to our former methods.
I keep the house; I feed us. I wash. I mind the children.
You work, you keep us housed. You help catch up where I might have have forgotten.
Together we're a team.
But since November I have a lack of interest. I am angry and irritable. I snap, I yell. I bite the walls.
I keep up with the basics. They're fed, they're warm. They're seemingly happy. I don't feel the same.
I play my games, but the joy is gone. It's all mechanical. I fold the clothes, I wipe her butt, I brush their hair. But the feeling is cold.
I am preoccupied. I feel denied.
Try again
Try again. You can do it.
It isn't time I tell myself. I mean, it could be. But I should pace myself.
Let my body come back to it's rhythms. Let you be ready.
I feel like since it was there for a moment, we need to grab again, and try again.
I feel denied, and want badly that feeling of excitement. I saw the stained underwear in the trash and I felt a moment of sadness.

But I didn't cry this time. Instead a voice in my head said, try again. I could weep, because it feels desperate. What if I am too old now? what if any medication I use will ruin it? Should we try again?
Do we dare? I would feel awful to lose another, to put you through that again. You were excited, scared. We both were.

Do we try again? I want to say yes.
Is this healing? It doesn't feel like healing. It feels like a spiral in to depression. But I try to talk to you, to friends. I have resources. I have methods for coping. But they don't feel quite right.
Instead I hear the voices. Still I hear them, I see their terrible things.

Last night one suggested visually and audibly, that I hold a lit lighter to my skin, until it bubbles and burns. You were already asleep, so I couldn't tell you. It's been bad like this for a few days. It makes sleep hard, and subsequently, I am crankier. I want nothing but to fall in to my writing, in to a fake world.

My knife in my back pocket, I feel like I might put away again. Or have you do it. I just feel shaky and weird. The meds help me slightly, they let me sleep sometimes. I wake up more now though, confused. My heart might pound. A song in my head, and a desire to scream. I should call and find out what I need to do.

But I'm afraid to go back on the working medications. They will signal it's over - because they won't let me try again. They aren't safe. They might have been a reason why it didn't last. I don't want to lose a chance. They were here so briefly. I want so badly to try again. But I'm afraid.

Am I enough for three? I am crying again. I feel barely enough for two. I feel barely enough for you, husband. They're doodling on paper while I type, listening to music.
They don;t get it. Why is she crying again? I hate this time of year. I hate the reminders.
Happy holidays my fucking ass. I want nothing to do with it. I don't want to decorate, I don't want to buy fuckin presents. I only eat because I have to.

She left in December. She used to do nothing but cry, and scream, locked away in her room. No one could go in. It was not our place. What could you do, for a woman who had 'bad days' every year?
 Leave her be and hope she gets better. I didn't understand as a kid. I better understand it now.

I work each year to get through it quietly. It wells up though. Some times I can bear it privately, but this year everything feels raw and open. The loss in November I think, has lain me open to everything, my self made armor ripped away to expose the soft flesh, to be ripped at with emotional teeth.

I am trying Matt. I really am. But I feel like giving up sometimes. I want to try again with you. I want to be whole, to not hear and see the things I do. To look at our babies and feel happy again. I am not leaving, I just needed a place to put this. Because you're at work and I cannot cry to you right now.

I'd call dad but it's too early. It's too early for emotional outbursts. So I'll write, and maybe I'll share this with you later.

I love you.