I have it all. Or so I’m told.
I have a loving husband who supports me. I have a beautiful little girl. She’s 5 months old. I love them. They mean the world to me. But sometimes it’s not enough. The pills on the counter are calling my name. I doubt there’s enough to kill me but I sometimes want to test that hypothesis. I wish I could tell people. I see a therapist. I lie. I tell them I’m fine. I just don’t want to pay for another hospital visit. It would be the 5th one this year.
I took more than I should have. It will just make me tired though. I do my research. I’m smart. Smart enough to know I should be happy. But I’m mad. I’m frustrated. I hate my position. My mom is keeping score right now. She has a spreadsheet of all the things she has done for me over this past year and the value of it all. She will present it to me to remind me I can’t make it in life with out her. What a confidence booster. She’s going to kill me. Not literally but the feeling of never getting her love with out owing her is going slowly kill me.
I just want to escape. I want to drive away and never come back. I just can’t do it anymore.