All Cried Out

"I feel mean," I told Hoop last night.

There it was, on the floor....

"There's no logical reason for it. I'm not mad at you or anyone in particular. I just... Haven't felt happy for awhile. Even when things go right, I can't enjoy it. I can't stop thinking about all the things that are wrong or need to be done. I used to be so happy. I used to view every day as an adventure, even the bad ones. But now I'm just bitter. My first reaction is to get angry, and usually it's for no good reason. I avoid talking to people at work. I go out of my way at lunch to be secluded. I feel mean, and I can't make it go away."

Yesterday Nash pulled the baseboards off our living room and discovered termites. Termites in the most central part of the house. An infestation would mean replacing the walls... The newly painted walls. It was the last straw in a very long and disappointing process. For the rest of the night I felt disjointed, unable to participate in the conversations about work or upcoming vacations. When Hoop's Dad started digging at how much trouble our termite problem was going to cause us, I completely shut down.

"It's like having a full plate that keeps refilling itself. Even after I'm full, someone keeps making me eat."

For months I've suspected depression. I've tossed the thought around and then tossed it away. I can't be depressed! I'm the person that makes people sick with my optimism. I'm the person Hoop's SIL said was, "disgustingly happy." How long ago was that? Over a year. Has it really been that long? So I confessed it last night to the man I love. The man I've yelled at unnecessarily. The man whose arms I've turned away from because I'd rather cry alone. The man who has missed me, desperately.

"I need help, Hoop."

And now I'm confessing it to you.

"We'll fix this, babe. I promise. Everything's going to be OK."