Flat

Flat, deflated, fed up. Going through the motions. With the children I do what's needed. Clothes are clean, if not always put away. They get fed. Sometimes I try and make a memory for them by making lunch a face. They do homework and reading most nights. I break up fights. They get to school on time. It is just going through the motions. I love them. I am proud of them both. I'd rather be in bed, or under my duvet in the chair. Alone. The pets get fed and cleaned out when they smell. They are some company to me. They don't expect anything more of me than feeding them and ensuring they have somewhere to poo. I can manage that. I'm becoming more sluggish. I just pause and can't get started. I don't know what to do. I try to do a little more in the house, to relieve the burden on my husband and my sense of guilt. My motivation is poor. I do not leave the house unless it's for the children or for an appointment. Even for appointments I some times rehearse cancelling them, or struggle to get going to them. I'm frustrated. Why me? Why now? Why can't I get better? Then the frustration calms and the flood of sadness comes. The grief, the tears and the physical pain. The anxiety. The remembering, the reviewing, the imagining how people see me and how I will be remembered. Then the flatness comes. Too sad to cry anymore. Everything seems pointless and death appears inevitable, that doesn't mean I have a plan in place. Not really. It means that I cannot see an end at all. How this could turn around. How I will ever see this part of my life as a learning experience to make me a better person. No. I see that the only end is me giving up. I can't see another way out.