:: :: jiggity jig :: ::

I’m back in Columbus finally after almost twelve full days back home in Rochester with my mom. I was nervous about coming back here because it feels sort of like the scene of a crime… the place where my life imploded and I was reduced to a crying mess in my kitchen telling my husband I wanted my mommy. The good news is, it’s not so very bad being back here. It is a bit overwhelming because now I have to actually start facing my problems and finding solutions instead of just hiding out in my mom’s house. But it’s not the boa constrictor I thought it would be, tightening itself around my midsection until my hands throb and my lungs ache from straining. (And, of course, I wasn’t just hiding out at home… I was figuring things out and taking a much-needed break.)

It’s funny because while I obviously can’t wait to start feeling better, there’s a weird paradox: I want to get better but because I’m still beneath the thumb of my postpartum depression, I feel like I’m not ready to get better. The thought of “feeling better” itself makes me panic a little. Does that sound crazy? I guess I just mean that I still feel so much dread and anxiety and sadness and conflict and the thought of being well enough to conquer my life everyday makes me wince and sigh.

I’m worn down, I guess.

And glad-ish to be home. No guess, although I do miss my mommy.