Catching up

Being depressed doesn't go well with blogging for me. I can maintain a certain level bitchiness and complain endlessly through the keyboard, but depression is a silent, wordless state for me. I reach a point where I am too down to type. I get so far down that I don't even have it in me to complain.

You know those keychains with scorpions encased in acrylic? That's what depression feels like. I am that scorpion, wrapped up, suffocated and paralyzed in a clear case of depression. Only depression is a little more transparent than acrylic, a little harder for others to see. They might see the signs of it, and feel around the edges, but it is hard for them to judge how deep I am inside it.

We had a miscarriage. I woke up early on July 8, our anniversary, to a crampy, clumpy, bloody mess. That went on for a few days.

And then there were the other things-- the job interviews that didn't pan out, the creditors on our backs being a pain in the ass, my mother trying to drag me into a dispute between my brothers, the kids acting like their brains fell out.

It's not been good.

My husband is off at a job interview right now. This job would be super-sweet. I am trying to believe that he'll get it in the hopes that somehow, magically, my belief will make it true. I want it to be true. It has to be. This is the best opportunity we've had come along in a good long while.

At the same time, things seem so bleak right now that I am afraid to hope, because if my hopes are dashed again, I may fall back into that deep, silent, suffocating darkness.