Unbalanced

Last night I had a major meltdown. The kind of meltdown that starts with a small thing, a tease or a joke that would normally roll off your back.

But it doesn’t roll off your back. Instead, you find yourself yelling at the top of your lungs while your husband dusts the floorboards and your kids roam around in the background.

The kind of meltdown that takes you out of your body. You watch yourself, red-faced and screaming, from the ceiling, hovering over your own head and tsk-tsking while a ranting crazy lady wears herself out reciting a litany of past transgressions against her.

You watch this woman, wearing a ridiculous pair of pigtails and dirty yoga pants, and you wonder:

How did this happen?

I lost it yesterday. I said mean and stupid things to my husband. I was so angry that I didn’t know if I could stop—stop the anger, or stop the tears that came later.

Every pent-up feeling about the past year and a half came out of me last night, like a horrible case of the stomach flu. Last night was the verbal equivalent of sitting on the pot with diarrhea while you’re barfing into the garbage can.

I managed to keep the kids out of the way, but I know they heard me at least a little. How could they not? And I hurt my husband deeply.

My husband has his quirks, but anyone who knows me understands that I am as weird as they come. My husband has stood by me and held my hand on countless days, some devastating and some joyful.

Most of all, he holds my hand on the regular days.

I am sad and embarrassed and ashamed, and I saw something in myself that I’ve seen before in others, and I hated it.

Remember when I said I was going to get the pills for Teh Crazy?

Yeah. I didn’t do that.

Because taking pills is weak! Because I am stronger than that! I don’t need anyone to talk to! I need more money, and I need pretty clothes and I need to eat more deep-fried foods! I just need to make sure I take a shower every day! Maybe I need to exercise!

Maybe I’m not crazy. Hey! You know what? YOU’RE the crazy one! Yeah, that’s the ticket! It’s everyone else! IT’S NOT ME.

It is me. It is a flaw in my brain, as much a part of my physical being as my brown eyes and that weird pinky toenail I have that splits in half no matter how much lotion or cuticle cream I use.

I need to take antidepressants. In fact, as soon as I get done with this confession, I am going to get them from the pharmacy at Wal-Mart. Did you know that antidepressants are just $4 if you get them at Wal-Mart?

A bargain under any circumstance.

My hair is falling out in huge clumps. I want to work so badly and when I get work I freak out. The Babyman won’t nap and that feels like the end of the world. I don’t know what we’re going to do with the rest of our lives. I’m trying to start a business and I want it to succeed but then I think, “If you’re involved in this, you are going to fuck it up for your friend.”

This summer, my sister told me that she feels like she has to protect herself and her family from my miserable outlook on life. Do you know what that feels like? To have such a mirror in front of your face?

It feels like glass in your throat. In your heart.

I live in fear. All day, every day. Everything is such a BIG FUCKING HURDLE.

Or at least it is in my fucked-up brain.

I need help. I am not strong enough. And I am not going to fuck up my kids because I am too proud to swallow a pill that might make me a few pounds heavier — and a lot lighter, all at the same time.

Fuck you, depression. Fuck you, brain. You’re on notice.

No more. It stops here.

For my husband and for Emmie and Henry.

It fucking stops here. No matter how many of those pills I have to swallow, along with my pride.

It stops, and it stops today.