I broke down a bit today. I started to cry while on chats at work, and ended up posting in the mental-health channel. A lot of people responded but I haven't done the same in return - I don't know what to say. I know people generally want to show that they care. The human response when someone is hurting is to want to hold them until they feel whole, to somehow pull that pain from them so that they can be better. And when people are at a distance, be it through a phone or a screen, what we're left with is words. Words of encouragement. Words of love. Words of experience. Of sympathy. Of empathy. Everyone who reached out did so to try and help me and I appreciate that more than I can express. They didn't make me feel better, but they did manage to make me feel not quite so alone, and that's something to be thankful for.

I wish I could say that I'm feeling better now, but I'm not. I feel worse. My head is heavy, my eyes are heavy, and my heart is heavy. I wish I could disappear, not for a day or two but permanently. Just... vanish. It's horrible. I know it's horrible, and I'm horrible for wanting it. I have two beautiful children who need me, I have a family that loves me, and I have friends who've been so super supportive of me whenever I've leaned on them. But all those things... they don't help. I don't feel any happier for any of them. I just feel guilty for not being stronger or happier or more able to cope with my life. The support almost feels like an extra burden because with it, I worry about disappointing the people who love me most.

There are things that I know I should be celebrating. My son went to the potty for the first time today. He's a smart, curious, and energetic little boy and he's taking these big steps towards growing up. My daughter is always watching out for him. She's protective and loving, and she has this huge heart and vibrant personality. She's always smiling - they both are. They are two of the happiest kids I've ever seen. And I am grateful for that, but it also makes me think that they'd be better off without me, because at two and five they shouldn't be watching mommy break down on the couch, or cry while she brushes their teeth and hair. Or have her start sobbing when she reads a book about foxes or otters or people left behind. They should have a stable mommy who takes them to the park or out for playdates, not a mommy who is too emotionally exhausted to be around people so she hides away like an elderly hermit.

I am failing. I'm failing them, and I'm failing myself, and I'm failing everyone who believes in me, and I don't know how to stop feeling this way. I know I keep writing these dark and depressed posts at the end of the day, but that's because by nighttime it's all that's left of me. I exhaust my ability to pretend I'm functional and all I have are these thoughts that I need to get out, and this brokenness that makes up who I am. And tears. I have plenty of tears. Somehow, that well is never empty. If only I could drown in it.