Some days

Some days are darker than others.

Most days are nearly fine. Other than the self doubt. And the guilt. But mostly fine. But some days…

Some days it’s really hard.

Some days, I find myself thinking that my boys, big and small, would be better off without me.

I thought this would pass, after the ‘baby blues’, but small boy is three now, and still, some days…

I’m not going to do anything stupid. No matter what I might sound like.

This is partly because I’m not very brave.

But it’s mostly because most days, most days I can cling on to the little bit of my logical brain that tells me that it’s probably not true. That they probably wouldn’t be better off.

I suppose it’s hope.

But some days that hope is hard to find.


Some days I wake up, and I haven’t had a nightmare.

Some days, I wake up.

Some days, I find it really hard to wake up. That’s when the lack of sleep catches up with me.

I don’t choose not to hear my boy crying. Or not to register when he clambers in between us. I don’t choose terrible sleep.  But it’s little wonder that I’m so clearly not the favourite parent.

Some days, just getting out of bed is a win.


Some days I wake up, and I know that everyone else is laughing about what they did last night. Cringing about whether they said something silly. Or danced on a table. Or fell over.

On these days, I wake up, and I worry that I probably said too much. That I probably banged on about myself too much. That I probably bored everyone with my selfish, narcissistic dullness.

These days scare me. Because I worry that I might have let the mask slip. And if the mask slips then I might end up actually alone.

Instead of just feeling it.


Some days I think I should maybe go back to the doctor. But then I think about the drugs. And the numbness. And I think that I should be able to get over this. To snap out of it. To stop being such a miserable, self-indulgent…

But, some days, I can’t see a way out. Some days I simply don’t know what to do.


And then some days I wake up and everything seems fine.

And I’m embarrassed that I was slumped on the kitchen floor sobbing.

Or that I picked a fight with the one man who’s promised always to be there, just because I didn’t know what else to do with the rage and the uselessness inside.


Some days are darker than others.

Some days it’s really hard.


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