I’m in Chicago right now. It was a really tough decision, but I had to leave. No, I didn’t leave my family for good, but I had to leave for my own sanity. For my own good. For my mental health. Things came to a head last night/this morning and after a long talk (and some choice words), Patrick and I decided (OK, so I made him decide for me) that I needed to visit my parents for the weekend.

I was torn. The pros are that I get a break from the routine, the rut of my everyday life. Maybe I can return to my family tomorrow with fresh eyes and a fresh outlook. I hope to return with a new appreciation for all of them because they truly are the center of my world. The cons are that I feel such a sense of guilt for bailing on them. I feel as though I have let them down, especially my baby-doll Griffin. I have this obsessive thought that he will be scarred from this experience. That somehow, at the age of 25 he will end up in therapy because “that one time my mom took off to Chi-town for the weekend because she didn’t want to be around me.”

On the upside, I think Patrick might finally be beginning to understand the depths of my depression. He has never experienced it himself (thankfully), so I know it is difficult for him to comprehend how it feels. Explaining it isn’t easy. This morning, I held Griffin while I tried washing bottles and sobbed. I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t make a decision. I was paralyzed. Everything was going on around me as usual, but I was paralyzed. It is a horrible feeling.

The funny thing is that even though I’m at my parents’ house, and I don’t have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night watching the baby monitor and listening for Griffin, I’m still as anxious as ever. What’s that all about? I thought I’d be feeling great. I don’t get it.

I just hope that these 24 hours really give me a break. A much-needed time to breathe and regroup.

Only time will tell.

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