God, I am tired.  This past week as I slowly, and strangely enough calmly, start moving from a relative high to a depressive low, I have noticed that my need to rest, to lay down in a perfect spot and simply let go is getting stronger.  I need to sleep, to get lost in the dreams that my brain gives me in an attempt to concentrate on something other than the sheer madness that is my life.  When I am high my dreams are erratic and often full of the stuff that makes nightmares so real, but when I am in my low my dreams become softer, fuller more real than the life I am leading.

I know that my house is a wreck, the dishes aren’t done. I know that my floors need to be washed, and my bathroom needs to be disinfected.  I know that my own self needs to be cleaned, buffed and polished; but the energy, the need to do any of these things isn’t there.  I know that there are Christmas items to be taken care of…

And once again, it will be my husband and my children who suffer.  It will be those I love the most, those in my life who deserve the most that won’t get what they need.  Who wants to live in my home?  Do my children at their young age have to be in charge of what is my rule?

And why is it that despite the fact I know that I need to do these things, I can’t.  Why can’t I find that little bit of stubborn, that little bit of push that could make things a little nicer for us all.  Hell, at this point I would probably benefit from a clean house.

But it doesn’t work that way.  This disease, this horrible condition, makes us change daily. Makes it hard to reflect, hard to learn, even hard to understand.  It makes it impossible to do the most simple of things, and makes it impossible for us to even like ourselves in the chaos of it all.

Maybe tomorrow the sun will find its way.  Maybe tomorrow I will find the courage to step into the sun, despite the darkness pressing down on me.  In the meantime, goodnight moon…