mama drama.

Being a mom is hard. All the time. Every day. 

Any one of us can attest to that. (If you happen to disagree and feel that it's a total breeze, please go away and never come back. You can't sit with us.)

Coping with mental illness absolutely makes this job more difficult (There are days I can't manage to take care of myself, much less my girl.), but it absolutely does not make my job any more difficult than anyone else's. Understand this: My issues don't make me any different from any other mom. I have a child. I do the best I can to raise her to be a happy, healthy, functional human being. I love her so much it hurts. I would do anything for her, including laying down my own life. Isn't that the same for all of us? 

I was sick enough at one point to believe that my baby would have been better off without me. I was messed up and out of control. I was headed for a collision. And I would be damned if I was going to let her suffer the same fate. I was (and to be honest still am) terrified of permanently damaging her. (That's another one of those worries we all share in the mommy club. Our circumstances may not be the same, but our fears are.) I didn't want her to see her mom self-destructing. So the obvious next thought was that if I was out of her life then she would be able to grow up without being completely ruined by me. Stupid. So very, very stupid.

When I finally realized how sick I was and how desperately I needed help, it hit me like a truck that no matter how bad I thought life was, it was life. I didn't feel like anything would ever get better, but as long as I was still here there was hope. Making any other choice would have robbed my girl of the rest of her life. It would have blown a hole in everything she did for the rest of forever. I gave myself some therapy homework to look up what happens to kids whose parents commit suicide. I have no words. My heart broke to pieces to read about the unending hell I was so close to putting her through because of my own stupidity and selfishness and cowardice. I have forgiven myself for a lot of the damage I did, but I will never forgive myself for that.

I could throw up.

The only thing that allows me to look at myself in the mirror in the mornings is that she never realized what I was so close to doing. I pray she never does. I talk about it now using vague words and general statements because going into anymore detail isn't something I can do. This brutal honesty thing is hard. Joking about being sick and twisted is one thing (I do that a lot. It makes me giggle.), but putting the ugly out there in the open for everyone to judge is another. I want to be a good mom in spite of the ugly. These days I'm finally starting to feel like one.

And lucky for me, my precious girl loves me, ugly or not. 

xo.