I’ve been referred to children’s services yet again. It may just be a formality but it hurts. It hurts to think that I’m not a good enough mother for my children. It hurts that they have to check up on me because I can’t be trusted to look after them. It hurts that I know they’re right: I’m not a fit mother. I’m screwing the poor kids up for life.
It hurts, too, to be so very lonely. Everyone’s telling me that I’m looking good/doing well/on good form, and I know they mean it as encouragement. But it means that no one is recognising or acknowledging that things are so very hard still. Even with the improved medication. It’s only two weeks since I came out of hospital; too soon to be back to normal. And yet that’s what everyone expects, and I’m afraid not to live up to their expectations.
I need a hug. Someone to listen. A shoulder to cry on. But I’m on my own. On my own and hurting.
Lucy's Depression Diary 