I hit a low today. And those who know me, and have known me for years, understand that my lows are really low. It’s not an ‘I need to cry it out in my bedroom’ kind of low. It’s an ‘I need to find the closest and highest bridge’ kind of low.

Even before I said goodbye and sent my sweet angel off to Heaven, I suffered from depression. Depression can be diagnosed, or not. But for those of us who have experienced it know, when it’s bad, it’s terrifying. I have had many troubling thoughts over my forty years. But I am also aware of the triggers and have sought help through counseling in a variety of ways for the better part of twenty years.

But today, I just had that feeling of I am done. I have been faithfully utilizing my coping mechanisms. I’ve been concentrating on self care, meditating, reading. But being stuck in this house with my husband and son going on five months, without being able to see my friends, with the constant threat of a virus that, should I contract it, would almost certainly kill me, I can’t help but feel—as irrational as it may seem—that I just want to get it over with and let it take me.

Listen, I am someone who lost her only child, after a grueling fight, in a terribly traumatic way. There have been times since I lost him that I knew it would be easier to join him in Heaven. But there is no way I would ever do that to my parents, husband, friends, or family. I see what traumatic loss does. I’ve also witnessed the pain caused by suicide. And I will never, by choice, put my loved ones through that.

But would it be easier? Probably.

I am fucking exhausted. I know I have a million blessings. I know I am one lucky individual. I know, when I listen to logic, that my life is incredible and amazing and some people only wish they could have what I have. But then, there’s the other stuff.

I live with a constant, never healing, broken heart. My husband and I have to make a concerted effort every damned day to stay together. And this virus could take me out, slowly and painfully, if I get it. My mom is battling cancer, my sister is on dialysis, my beautiful adopted son is not always easy to raise, and I am fucking exhausted by all of it. I don’t get a break. Ever. I have to concentrate on breathing, just so I don’t lose my shit.

It is HARD. I try to put on a brave face. I do. But this face right now is a tangled mess of tears. I just don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t. I will go to therapy (or phone or zoom therapy) this week. I will meditate. I will take one breath in and let one breath out, until the stress and hurt and insanity subside. For at least a few minutes. I will journal about how much I hate everything, and how hard this is, and how bad I am feeling.

And I will be ok.

But right now? I don’t feel ok. No, please do not call the authorities. I am not in immediate danger of hurting myself or anyone around me. But I’m so goddamned tired of this shit. I just want a break.

But how do you take a break from grief, and fear, and life?

You don’t. You cope. And I will cope. I always do. But right now, I’m just really, really tired.

A wise woman once said to me, ‘Our angels don’t visit us when we feel broken. They visit us when we feel healed.’

Tomorrow will be better. It always is. My angel will send me a sign, or visit my dreams, and I will remember how beautiful this life is. And I will be grateful.

Because I got to parent the most beautiful soul this Earth has ever seen. And that makes all of this worth it. 💛👼🏻💛