My biggest fear and secret.

I am the wife of a wonderful husband, who does everything he can to take care of me. I am the mother to three amazing children who have more love in them than I ever know what do to with. I am a nurse working in the field I've wanted to be in since I was 5. I have a beautiful home that I love. I have a neighborhood with kids close in age to my own. I am 12 weeks pregnant.

With all these wonderful things in my life I should be so happy. But I'm not. I wake up knowing I will dry heave/throw up within the hour. I wake up wondering why I even bothered to sleep when I know all it brings is the next day. I spend my day reacting to everything my kids do because I just don't have it in me to help them before it becomes a problem. I lay on the couch wondering why I even got out of bed. Eric is old enough to take care of his sisters right? He's 5. He can get them breakfast and lunch, Dad can deal with dinner when he gets home. Right? No. No, Eric needs to be a kid. He needs to go play and have fun and learn. He needs to be able to figure out his own life, he's way too young to have that amount of responsibility. So I get up when I hear them fighting again because Sam and Kaelee are in his room again and he wants some alone time. The stress always gets to me. Even on days when there really isn't anything bad happening. I hate going to work. I hate knowing that I will need to meet someones emotional and healing needs when I have less than nothing to give. I hate feeling like this. So I tell myself to grow up. Get over it. My life isn't about me, it's about my family. But every week I break. Every week I blow up and take it out on my husband because I just can't deal with life anymore. Every week we get in a huge fight over nothing because I have nothing to give and nothing anyone does helps me feel any better. So I run on empty until scratching the bottom finally breaks and I have to glue it all back together and pretend everything is finally okay again. But it's not. And he knows it. But neither of us know what to do. And I don't want to admit that what I'm dealing with is depression and that it getting worse.

Yesterday I broke. And I broke hard. I couldn't get the pieces back together. I couldn't deal with anything. So I didn't. I just cried and let myself feel everything that I had been pushing back and trying to ignore. And it hurt. I felt like my heart was literally ripping apart. When I cried my last tears I tried to lock all the feelings away again so I would just stop feeling all together. I hid where I always hide. On Facebook. But it didn't work. Instead I got a wake up call. The first thing that registered from scrolling through my feed was this post from "The Emily Effect" page.

Someone was watching. Someone knew I needed to see that and re-hear everything that Matt had been saying for weeks that I didn't want to hear. I got my wake up call. So today when I went to my prenatal appointment I finally told someone. It was the hardest conversation I've ever had. One that I had been doing everything in my power to avoid. but one that I needed desperately to have. I still feel like I should be able to get over this on my own, to logic my way out of it like I did during the last few weeks of being pregnant with Kaelee. But I know I can't. This time is different. This time I need to help. This time I'm finally willing to admit it.

I know I will still have hard days, even with the medication, but at least now there is hope. Now I'm not fighting the battle alone. Now I finally feel like I can accept the help my husband has always been trying to give. 

I can't do this alone. And I finally don't feel guilty as I say that.