Deja Vu

I've been here before.

I don't mean "here" physically (although of course I have, as it's my bedroom) or virtually (although of course i have, as this is my blog), nor do I mean it in some creepy past life sense. No, I mean mentally - I have been in this state of mind before.

So naturally I know it will pass. Maybe I'll just pick myself up and move on, or my beloved will make me laugh and everything will seem better. Maybe my son will be extra cute. Maybe a friend will offer me hugs (real or virtual) and I'll remember it's just not worth beating myself up about. Whatever happens, I'll feel better soon and try and get on with life as best I can.

Of course, I also know this will happen again. All my good intentions will slip and I'll spiral back down into a vicious circle of sloth and self-loathing. I'll not do any work and then worry about not doing any work. I'll let the housework build again to the point where I start getting stressed about it. I'll sit and mope over some guy who's better off without me anyway instead of reveling in the love I have (and boy what a love that is). I'll become so convinced that I'm a terrible mother that it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy as I become incapable of looking after my son because I am too wrapped-up in my own misery.

I think this is what I find so depressing about it - no matter how hard I try I always fail to snap out of it for good. And I know this belief that my behaviour is inevitable is one of the biggest barriers to changing it once and for all. And I don't want my life to be like this, not least because the two people I love the most are the ones who suffer the most. But I can't find it in myself to believe there is anything anyone can do to help.

This afternoon I'm seeing a doctor again after too long. I daren't hope that good things will come of it. But it seems the only thing to do.