Days are mostly good now. Nights are even better – we all sleep through them. But I know not all is right. I feel the presence of something dark and unpleasant, even in sunlight. The depression and anxiety that I’ve struggled with most of my adult life still live with me, still haunt me. I sometimes spy them at the edge of my field of vision, especially when I’m very tired.

I don’t know where PPDA ends and ‘regular’ depression and anxiety starts. The feelings are often the same, just with different targets. Before, I would think I didn’t want to teach any more. Now, I think some days I don’t want to be a mother. There’s no difference. I just want peace and quiet and silence, my own thoughts included. I don’t want everything to be so hard.

Mostly it’s okay. I’m tired, but it’s also naptime and Ben is such a good baby, he settles right down to sleep. So do I. He plays independently when he wakes, so I can get laundry done. My house is clean, dusted and vacuumed and even the muddy dog prints are wiped up. I am so lucky, and I know it. So why do these feelings drag at me?

That’s the disease, under whatever title it would like. Telling me that my perfection isn’t. Telling me that my luck is run out. Telling me that my easy¬†baby is too much for me to handle.

I don’t listen as much to those demons in the shadows anymore. But it’s frustrating that they’re still there. I wish my shadows were just that.


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